'Tis not Pelasgian wall,

By him made sacred whom alone
'Twere not profane to call
The bard divine,1 nor (thrown

Far under me) Valdarno, nor the crest
Of Vallombrosa in the crimson east.

Here can I sit or roam at will: Few trouble me, few wish me ill, Few come across me, few too near; Here all my wishes make their stand; Here ask I no one's voice or hand; Scornful of favor, ignorant of fear.

Yon vine upon the maple bough Flouts at the hearty wheat below; Away her venal wines the wise man sends, While those of lower stem he brings From inmost treasure vault, and sings 90 Their worth and age among his chosen friends.

Behold our Earth, most nigh the sun Her zone2 least opens to the genial heat, But farther off her veins more freely

run:

'Tis thus with those who whirl about the

great;

95 The nearest shrink and shiver, we remote May open-breasted blow the pastoral oat.3

10

15

What is it we deplore?

He leaves behind him, freed from griefs and years,

Far worthier things than tears. The love of friends without a single foe: Unequalled lot below!

His gentle soul, his genius, these are thine; For these dost thou repine?

He may have left the lowly walks of men;
Left them he has; what then?

Are not his footsteps followed by the eyes
Of all the good and wise?
Tho' the warm day is over, yet they seek
Upon the lofty peak

No; but the hours you can, you must, Nor rise at Death's approaching stride, Nor go when dust is gone to dust.

"YOU MUST GIVE BACK," HER MOTHER SAID

1846

"You must give back," her mother said To a poor sobbing little maid, "All the young man has given you, Hard as it now may seem to do."

""Tis done already, mother dear!"' Said the sweet girl, "So, never fear." Mother. Are you quite certain? Come, recount

(There was not much) the whole amount.
Girl. The locket: the kid gloves.
Go on.

Mother.
Girl. Of the kid gloves I found but one.
Mother. Never mind that. What else?
Proceed.

You gave back all his trash?

15

All the fond looks and words that pass'd, 20 And all the kisses, to the last.

THE MAID I LOVE NE'ER THOUGHT

OF ME 1846

The maid I love ne'er thought of me
Araid the scenes of gaiety;

But when her heart or mine sank low,
Ah then it was no longer so.

5 From the slant palm she rais'd her head, And kiss'd the cheek whence youth had

fled.

Angels! some future day for this,
Give her as sweet and pure a kiss.

VERY TRUE, THE LINNETS SING
1846

Very true, the linnets sing
Sweetest in the leaves of spring:
You have found in all these leaves
That which changes and deceives,
5 And, to pine by sun or star,
Left them, false ones as they are.
But there be who walk beside
Autumn's, till they all have died,
And who lend a patient ear

10 To low notes from branches sere.

crown

30 Of richer jewels at thy reckless feet.

Well hast thou chosen. I repeat the words, Adding as true ones, not untold before, That incense must have fire for its ascent, Else 'tis inert and can not reach the idol. 35 Youth is the sole equivalent of youth.

Enjoy it while it lasts; and last it will;
Love can prolong it in despite of Years.

ONE YEAR AGO MY PATH WAS
GREEN
1846

One year ago my path was green,
My footstep light, my brow serene;
Alas! and could it have been so
One year ago?

5 There is a love that is to last

When the hot days of youth are past:
Such love did a sweet maid bestow

One year ago.

I took a leaflet from her braid 10 And gave it to another maid. Love! broken should have been thy bow

L

One year ago.

YES; I WRITE VERSES NOW AND
THEN
1846

Yes; I write verses now and then,
But blunt and flaccid is my pen,
No longer talk'd of by young men
As rather clever:

5 In the last quarter are my eyes,
You see it by their form and size;
Is it not time then to be wise?
Or now or never.

Fairest that ever sprang from Eve!
10 While Time allows the short reprieve,
Just look at me! would you believe
'Twas once a lover?

I cannot clear the five-bar gate,
But, trying first its timbers' state,
15 Climb stiffly up, take breath, and wait
To trundle over.

Thro' gallopade1 I cannot swing

The entangling blooms of Beauty's spring:
I cannot say the tender thing,

1 A kind of lively dance.

5

10

THE LEAVES ARE FALLING; SO AM I 1846

The leaves are falling; so am I;

The few late flowers have moisture in the

eye;

So have I too.

Scarcely on any bough is heard
Joyous, or even unjoyous, bird

The whole wood through.

Winter may come: he brings but nigher His circle (yearly narrowing) to the fire Where old friends meet:

Let him; now heaven is overcast,
And spring and summer both are past,
And all things sweet.

THE PLACE WHERE SOON I THINK
TO LIE
1846

The place where soon I think to lie,
In its old creviced nook hard-by

Rears many a weed:

If parties bring you there, will you 5 Drop slily in a grain or two Of wall-flower seed?