Full filled with April forecast, hath no

light.

The salt wave on the sedge-flat pulses slow. Through the hid furrows lisp in murmurous flow

The thaw's shy ministers; and hark! The height

Of heaven grows weird and loud with unseen flight

Of strong hosts prophesying as they go! High through the drenched and hollow night their wings

Beat northward hard on winter's trail. The sound

Of their confused and solemn voices, borne Athwart the dark to their long arctic morn, Comes with a sanction and an awe profound,

A boding of unknown, foreshadowed things.

Into the happy harbor hastening, gay With press of snowy canvas, tall ships throng.

The peopled streets to blithe-eyed Peace belong,

Glad housed beneath these crowding roofs of gray.

'T was long ago this city prospered so, For yesterday a woman died therein. Since when the wharves are idle fallen, I know,

And in the streets is hushed the pleasant din;

The thronging ships have been, the songs have been ;

Since yesterday it is so long ago.

AUTOCHTHON

I AM the spirit astir
To swell the grain,
When fruitful suns confer
With laboring rain;

I am the life that thrills

In branch and bloom;

I am the patience of abiding hills,

The promise masked in doom.

When the sombre lands are wrung,
And storms are out,
And giant woods give tongue,
I am the shout;

And when the earth would sleep,
Wrapped in her snows,

I am the infinite gleam of eyes that keep
The post of her repose.

I am the hush of calm,

I am the speed,

The flood-tide's triumphing psalm,
The marsh-pool's heed;

I work in the rocking roar

Where cataracts fall;

I flash in the prismy fire that dances o'er The dew's ephemeral ball.

I am the voice of wind

And wave and tree,

Of stern desires and blind, Of strength to be;

I am the cry by night

At point of dawn,

The summoning bugle from the unseen

height,

In cloud and doubt withdrawn.