THE CHILD

It was only the clinging touch
Of a child's hand in the street,
But it made the whole day sweet;
Caught, as he ran full-speed,

In my own stretched out to his need,
Caught, and saved from the fall,
As I held, for the moment's poise,
In my circling arms the whole boy's
Delicate slightness, warmëd mould;
Mine, for an instant mine,

The sweetest thing the heart can divine,

More precious than fame or gold,
The crown of many joys,

Lay in my breast, all mine.

I was nothing to him;

He neither looked up nor spoke;
I never saw his eyes;

He was gone ere my mind awoke
From the action's quick surprise
With vision blurred and dim.

Eve's rosy star a-tremble

Its hour of light, -
All things that love resemble
Too soon take flight.

The violets we cherish
Died in the spring;
Roses and lilies perish
In what they bring;
And joy and beauty wholly
With life depart;

But love leaves slow, how slowly!
Life's empty heart.

O, strange to me, and wondrous,
The storm passed by,
With sound of voices thund'rous
Swept from the sky;

But stranger, love, thy fashion, –
O, tell me why

Art thou, dark storm of passion, So slow to die?

When the great gale has blown o'er;

As the long winter-dirges

From frozen branches pour;

As the whole sea's harsh December
Pounds on the pine-hung shore;
So will love's deep remember,
So will deep love deplore.

SEAWARD

I WILL rise, I will go from the places that are dark with passion and pain, From the sorrow-changed woodlands and a thousand memories slain.

O light gone out in darkness on the cliff I seek no more

Where she I worshipped met me in her girlhood at the door!

O, bright though years how many! farewell, sweet guiding star The wild wind blows me seaward over the harbor-bar!

Better thy waste, gray Ocean, the homeless, heaving plain,

Than to choke the fount of life and the flower of honor stain !

I will seek thy blessed shelter, deep bosom of sun and storm,

From the fever and fret of the earth and the things that debase and deform; For I am thine; from of old thou didst lay me, a child, at rest

In thy cradle of many waters, and gav'st
to my hunger thy breast;
Remember the dreamful boy whom thy
beauty preserved from wrong,
Thou taughtest me music, O Singer of the
never-silent song!

Man-grown, I will seek thy healing; though
from worse than death I fly,
Not mine the heart of the craven, not here
I mean to die!

Let me taste on my lips thy salt, let me live with the sun and the rain,

Let me lean to the rolling wave and feel me man again !

O, make thee a sheaf of arrows as when thy winters rage forth, Whiten me as thy deep-sea waves with the blanching breath of the North !

O, take thee a bundle of spears from thine azure of burning drouth,

Smite into my pulses the tremors, the fervors, the blaze of the South!

So might my breath be snow-cold, and my blood be pure like fire,

The heavenly souls that have left me will come back to sustain and inspire. Take me - I come―0, save me in the paths my fathers trod !

Then fling me back to the battle where men labor the peace of God !

FROM "MY COUNTRY"

O DESTINED Land, unto thy citadel, What founding fates even now doth peace compel,

That through the world thy name is sweet to tell!

O throned Freedom, unto thee is brought Empire; nor falsehood nor blood-payment asked;

Who never through deceit thy ends hast sought,

Nor toiling millions for ambition tasked; Unlike the fools who build the throne

On fraud, and wrong, and woc;
For man at last will take his own,
Nor count the overthrow;

But far from these is set thy continent,
Nor fears the Revolution in man's rise;
On laws that with the weal of all consent,
And saving truths that make the people
wise:

For thou art founded in the eternal fact That every man doth greaten with the

act

Of freedom; and doth strengthen with the weight

Of duty; and diviner moulds his fate, By sharp experience taught the thing he lacked,

God's pupil; thy large maxim framed, though late,

Who masters best himself best serves the State.

This wisdom is thy Corner: next the stone Of Bounty; thou hast given all; thy store, Free as the air, and broadcast as the light, Thou flingest; and the fair and gracious sight,

More rich, doth teach thy sons this happy lore:

That no man lives who takes not priceless gifts

Both of thy substance and thy laws, whereto He may not plead desert, but holds of thee

A childhood title, shared with all who grew, His brethren of the hearth; whence no man lifts

Above the common right his claim; nor dares

To fence his pastures of the common good: For common are thy fields; common the toil;

Common the charter of prosperity,
That gives to each that all may blessed be.
This is the very counsel of thy soil.
Therefore, if any thrive, mean-souled he

Now westward, look, my country bids good-night,

Peace to the world from ports without a gun !

LOVE'S ROSARY

SWEET names, the rosary of my evening prayer,

Told on my lips like kisses of good-night To friends who go a little from my sight, And some through distant years shine clear and fair

So this dear burden that I daily bear Mighty God taketh, and doth loose me quite;

And soft I sink in slumbers pure and light

With thoughts of human love and heavenly

care;

But when I mark how into shadow slips My manhood's prime, and weep fast-passing friends,

And heaven's riches making poor my lips, And think how in the dust love's labor ends,

Then, where the cluster of my hearth-stone shone,

"Bid mo not live," I sigh, "till all be gone."

SONG OF EROS, IN "AGATHON "
WHEN love in the faint heart trembles,
And the eyes with tears are wet,
Oh, tell me what resembles
Thee, young Regret ?
Violets with dewdrops drooping;
Lilies o'erfull of gold,
Roses in June rains stooping,

That weep for the cold,
Are like thee, young Regret.

Bloom, violets, lilies, and roses!
But what, young Desire,
Like thee, when love discloses
Thy heart of fire?
The wild swan unreturning,

The eagle alone with the sun,
The long-winged storm-gulls burning
Seaward when day is done,
Are like thee, young Desire.

THE WAY TO ARCADY

On, what's the way to Arcady,
To Arcady, to Arcady;
Oh, what's the way to Arcady,
Where all the leaves are merry!

Oh, what's the way to Arcady?
The spring is rustling in the tree,
The tree the wind is blowing through, -
It sets the blossoms flickering white.
I knew not skies could burn so blue

Nor any breezes blow so light.
They blow an old-time way for me,
Across the world to Arcady.

Oh, what's the way to Arcady?
Sir Poet, with the rusty coat,
Quit mocking of the song-bird's note.
How have you heart for any tune,
You with the way worn russet shoon?

Your scrip, a-swinging by your side,
Gapes with a gaunt mouth hungry-wide.
I'll brim it well with pieces red,
If you will tell the way to tread.
Oh, I am bound for Arcady,
And if you but keep pace with me
You tread the way to Arcady.

And where away lies Arcady,

And how long yet may the journey be?

Ah, that (quoth he) I do not know:
Across the clover and the snow —
Across the frost, across the flowers —
Through summer seconds and winter hours,
I've trod the way my whole life long,

And know not now where it may be ;
My guide is but the stir to song,
That tells me I cannot go wrong,
Or clear or dark the pathway be
Upon the road to Arcady.