Take me now to thy breast,

Earth, sweet mother of men.

Hide me and let me sleep;
Give me a lonely tomb

So close and so dark and so deep
I shall hear no trumpet of doom.

There let me lie forgot

When the dead at its blast are gone; Give me to hear it not,

But only to slumber on.

This is the fate I crave,

For I look to the end and see If there be not rest in the grave There will never be rest for me.

THE AGE

I

A PALE and soul-sick woman with wan eyes

Fixed on their own reflection in the glass, Uncertain lips half-oped to say "Alas, Naked I stand between two mysteries, Finding my wisdom naught who am most wise."

Behind, the shapes and fiery shadows pass Of fervent life; no joy in them she has, But gazing on herself she moans and sighs. And yet of knowledge she doth hold the key,

And Power and Pleasure are her handmaidens,

And all past years have given of their best To make her rich and great and strong

and free,

Who stands in slack and listless impotence, Marvelling sadly at her own unrest.

II

Her children cluster round about her

knees;

The hoarded wealth and wisdom of the Dead

Of all past time they have inherited, And still within their hands it doth increase;

Yet in their eyes is mirrored her dis-peace, Her weariness within their hearts is shed; Her dreary sorrow weighs each drooping head,

And each soul sickens with her fell disease.

To whom the fates have given
For sport the sky's blue height;
Where cloud with cloud is meeting,
I see thy bright wings beating,
And flashing and retreating
Against the morning light!

No toilsome task thou knowest,
No day with tears begun,
Lighthearted forth thou goest
At morn to meet the sun;
All day thy song thou triest
From lowest note to highest,
And all unweary fliest
Until the day be done.

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.

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.

IDEAL MEMORY

IF in the years that come such thing should be

That we should part, with tears or deadly

strife,

That we should cease to share a common life,
Or walk estranged in voiceless misery,
Then by this night of love remember me.

For tired hearts at last an end shall be,
For tired feet the pitfall grave doth wait:
Can we escape this common trick of fate?
More fortunate than all beside are we?
Wherefore by this night's love remember

me.

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 !

My wife and I had kissed at morn,
My children's lips were full of song;
O friend, it seemed such cruel wrong,
My life so full, and yours forlorn!

We slept last night clasped hand in hand,
Secure and calm and never knew
How fared the lonely hours with you,
What time those dying lips you fanned.

We dreamed of love, and did not see
The shadow pass across our dream;
We heard the murmur of a stream,
Not death's, for it ran bright and free.

Earth's door you set so wide, alack
She saw God's gardens, and she went
A moment forth to look; she meant
No wrong,
but oh! she came not back!

Dear friend, what can I say or sing,
But this, that she is happy there?
We will not grudge those gardens fair
Where her light feet are wandering.

The child at play is ignorant
Of tedious hours; the years for you
To her are moments: and you too
Will join her ere she feels your want.

The path she wends we cannot track:
And yet some instinct makes us know
Hers is the joy, and ours the woe,
We dare not wish her to come back!

THE ANGEL AT THE FORD

I SOUGHT to hold her, but within her

eyes

I read a new strange meaning; faint they prayed,

"Oh, let me pass and taste the great surprise ;

Behold me not reluctant nor afraid!"

"Nay, I will strive with God for this!" I cried,

"As man with man, like Jacob at the brook, Only be thou, dear heart, upon my side!" "Be still," she answered, "very still, and look!"

And straightway I discerned with inward dread

The multitudinous passing of white souls, Who paused, each one with sad averted head,

And flashing of indignant aureoles.

AFTER DEATH

SHALL mine eyes behold thy glory, O my country? Shall mine eyes behold thy glory?

Or shall the darkness close around them, ere the sun-blaze break at last upon thy story?

When the nations ope for thee their queenly circle, as a sweet new sister hail thee,

Shall these lips be sealed in callous death and silence, that have known but to bewail thee?