Puslapio vaizdai
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Thou knowest no toil for raiment,
No pain of mocked desire ;
The skies are thy song's payment,
The sun thy throne of fire.
Thou askest and receivest,
And if perchance thou grievest,
At will the world thou leavest
On wings that never tire.

Yet we of grosser stature
Have in thy flight a part,
We share thy tameless nature,
We have a nobler art.
When thou art tired returning,
There mount in love and yearning,
Toward suns of keener burning,
The winged thoughts of our heart.

Not by my worst, when dull or bitterly The mind moved, and the evil in my blood Worked words of anger thy meek will

withstood, Not by the hours I sinned 'gainst love and

thee, Oh, not by these, dear love, remember me. First in our mind live things that perfect be, All shapes of joy or beauty, — day's low

light Dying along the seaward edge of night, The first sweet violet, music's ecstasy, Making the heart leap, - - so remember me. For I would have thy mind and memory A chamber of sweet sounds and fragrances. Let the ill pass : its power to hurt was less Than joy's to bless us. I remember thee By thy first kiss ; Oh, thus remember me ! There was an hour wherein a god's degree And stature seemed to clothe me, and I

stood Supremely strong, and high, and great, and

good : Oh, by that hour, when all I aimed to be I did appear, by that remember me !

Within our souls are folden
The wings thou canst not share,
We see a dawn more golden,
We breathe diviner air :
In sleep when toil is ended,
In prayer with hope attended,
We traverse ways more splendid,
And see a world more fair.

Yet oft, when day is gleaming
On sleepless eyes, we vow
We would exchange our dreaming
To be one hour as thou !
Such discontent we borrow,
That we forget in sorrow
We have the long to-morrow,
Thou only hast the now.

TO A DESOLATE FRIEND

O FRIEND, like some cold wind to-day
Your message came, and chilled the light ;
Your house so dark, and mine so bright,
I could not weep, I could not pray !

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Frances Isabel Parnell
AFTER DEATH

When the nations ope for thee their

queenly circle, as a sweet new sister SHALL mine eyes behold thy glory, O my

hail thee, country? Shall mine eyes behold Shall these lips be sealed in callous death thy glory?

and silence, that have known but to Or shall the darkness close around them, bewail tbee?

ere the sun-blaze break at last upon
thy story?

Shall the ear be deaf that only loved thy And my heart should toss within the shroud

praises, when all men their tribute and quiver as a captive dreamer bring thee?

tosses. Shall the mouth be clay that sang thee in

thy squalor, when all poets' mouths I should turn and rend the cere-clothes shall sing thee?

round me, giant sinews I should bor

row

row.

Ah, the harpings and the salvos and the Crying, “O my brothers, I have also

shoutings of thy exiled sons return- loved her in her loneliness and sor

ing!
I should hear, though dead and mouldered,

and the grave-damps should not “ Let me join with you the jubilant pro-
chill
my
bosom's burning

cession ; let me chant with you her

story ; Ah, the tramp of feet victorious! I should Then contented I shall go back to the hear them 'mid the shamrocks and

shamrocks, now mine eyes have seen the mosses,

her glory!”

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Or I am like a stream that flows
Full of the cold springs that arose

In morning lands, in distant hills ;
And down the plain my channel fills
With melting of forgotten snows.
Voices I have not heard possessed
My own fresh songs ; my thoughts are

blessed
With relics of the far unknown ;

And mixed with memories not my own
The sweet streams throng into my breast.
Before this life began to be,
The happy songs that wake in me

CHANGELESS

A POET of one mood in all my lays,
Ranging all life to sing one only love,
Like a west wind across the world I

move,
Sweeping my harp of floods mine own wild

ways.

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