Whether there dropp'd by some too careless hand, Strange, was it not? Far from its native deep, Sang of the awful mysteries of the tide, And as the shell upon the mountain height So do I ever, leagues and leagues away, So do I ever, wandering where I may, Sing, O my home! sing, O my home, of thee! SONG EUGENE FIELD. WE sail toward evening's lonely star, That trembles in the tender blue; One single cloud, a dusky bar Burnt with dull carmine through and through, Slow smouldering in the summer sky, Lies low along the fading west ; How sweet to watch its splendors die, Wave-cradled thus, and wind-caress'd! The soft breeze freshens; leaps the spray To kiss our cheeks with sudden cheer; Upon the dark edge of the bay Light-houses kindle far and near, Wave-cradled thus, and wind-caress'd. Thou dearest! We are at life's best, Folded in God's encircling arm, CELIA THAXTER. THE GOLDEN SILENCE WHAT though I sing no other song? Is silence shame ? Is patience wrong ? I will not wake the sleeping lyre; Comes its own way, and comes unsought. Though all the bards of earth were dead, Her heart is in the shimmering leaf, She speaks in forms that cannot die. The mountain-peaks that shine afar, WILLIAM WINTER. THE BLESSED DAMOZEL THE blessèd damozel lean'd out She had three lilies in her hand, And the stars in her hair were seven. Her robe, ungirt from clasp to hem, Herseem'd she scarce had been a day Albeit, to them she left, her day (To one, it is ten years of years. Surely she lean'd o'er me Fell all about my face. her hair Nothing the autumn fall of leaves. It was the rampart of God's house So high, that looking downward thence It lies in Heaven, across the flood Beneath, the tides of day and night Around her, lovers, newly met Spoke evermore among themselves And still she bow'd herself and stoop'd Until her bosom must have made The bar she lean'd on warm, And the lilies lay as if asleep From the fix'd place of Heaven she saw Time like a pulse shake fierce Through all the worlds. Within the gulf to pierce Her gaze still strove Its path; and now she spoke as when The sun was gone now; the curl'd moon Fluttering far down the gulf; and now (Ah sweet! Even now, in that bird's song, Strove not her accents there, Fain to be hearken'd? When those bells Possess'd the mid-day air, Strove not her steps to reach my side "I wish that he were come to me, For he will come," she said. "Have I not pray'd in Heaven? Lord, Lord, has he not pray'd? on earth, Are not two prayers a perfect strength? "When round his head the aureole clings, And he is clothed in white, I'll take his hand and go with him We will step down as to a stream, "We two will stand beside that shrine, Whose lamps are stirr'd continually And see our old prayers, granted, melt "We two will lie i' the shadow of That living mystic tree Within whose secret growth the Dove Is sometimes felt to be, While every leaf that His plumes touch "And I myself will teach to him, I myself, lying so, The songs I sing here; which his voice And find some knowledge at each pause, Or some new thing to know.' (Alas! We two, we two, thou sayʼst! Yea, one wast thou with me That once of old. But shall God lift To endless unity The soul whose likeness with thy soul "We two," she said, "will seek the groves Where the lady Mary is, With her five handmaidens, whose names Are five sweet symphonies, Cecily, Gertrude, Magdalen, "Circlewise sit they, with bound locks Into the fine cloth white like flame To fashion the birth-robes for them "Herself shall bring us, hand in hand, To Him round whom all souls To their citherns and citoles. "There will I ask of Christ the Lord Thus much for him and me: Only to live as once on earth As then awhile, for ever now She gazed and listen'd and then said, Less sad of speech than mild, "All this is when he comes." She ceased. The light thrill'd towards her, fill'd With angels in strong level flight. (I saw her smile.) But soon their path And laid her face between her hands, And wept. (I heard her tears.) DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI IN THE MIST SITTING all day in a silver mist, |