Shall the dead take thought for the dead to love them? They are loveless now as the grass above them, Or the wave. All are at one now, roses and lovers, Not known of the cliffs and the fields and the sea. Not a breath of the time that has been hovers In the air now soft with a summer to be. Not a breath shall there sweeten the seasons hereafter Here death may deal not again forever; Here change may come not till all change end. From the graves they have made they shall rise up never, Roll the sea; Till the slow sea rise and the sheer cliff crumble, Here now in his triumph where all things falter, A MATCH. IF love were what the rose is, Green pleasure or gray grief: If I were what the words are, And love were like the tune, With double sound and single Delight our lips would mingle, With kisses glad as birds are That get sweet rain at noon; If I were what the words are And love were like the tune. If you were life, my darling. And hours of fruitful breath; If you were thrall to sorrow, And I were page to joy, If you were April's lady, And I were lord in May, We'd throw with leaves for hours. And draw for days with flowers, Till day like night were shady, And night were bright like day; If you were April's lady, And I were lord in May. If you were queen of pleasure, FROM" CHRISTMAS ANTIPHONES." IN CHURCH. THOU whose birth on earth Angels sang to men, While thy stars made mirth, Saviour, at thy birth, This day born again; As this night was bright God, whose feet made sweet Those wild ways they trod, From thy fragrant feet Staining field and street With the blood of God; God, whose breast is rest In the time of strife, In thy secret breast Sheltering souls opprest From the heat of life; God, whose eyes are skies, God, whose heart hath part Where the pale souls wail, Held in bonds of death, Where all spirits quail, Came thy Godhead pale Still from human breath, Pale from life and strife, Wan with manhood, came Forth of mortal life, Pierced as with a knife, Scarred as with a flame. Thou, the Word and Lord In all time and space Heard, beheld, adored, With all ages poured Forth before thy face; Lord, what worth in earth Drew thee down to die? What therein was worth, Lord, thy death and birth ? What beneath thy sky? Light, above all love, By thy love was lit, And brought down the dove Feathered from above With the wings of it. From the height of night, Was not thine the star That led forth with might By no worldly light Wise men from afar? Yet the wise men's eyes Saw thee not more clear Than they saw thee rise Who in shepherd's guise Drew as poor men near. Yet thy poor endure, And are with us yet; Be thy name a sure Refuge for thy poor Whom men's eyes forget. Nor, though the sun of day be shrouded quite, Swerve from the narrow path to left or right. ON THE HILL-SIDE. THE winds behind me in the thicket sigh, The bees fly droning on laborious wing, Pink cloudlets scarcely float across the sky. September stillness broods o'er everything. Deep peace is in my soul: I seem to hear Catullus murmuring, "Let us live and love; Suns rise and set, and fill the rolling year Which bears us deathward, therefore let us love; Pour forth the wine of kisses, let them flow, And let us drink our fill before we die." Hush! in the thicket still the breezes blow; [sky; Pink cloudlets sail across the azure The bees warp lazily on laden wing; Beauty and stillness brood o'er everything. THE WILL. BLAME not the times in which we live. Nor Fortune frail and fugitive; Blame not thy parents, nor the rule Of vice or wrong once learned at school; But blame thyself, O man! Although both heaven and earth combined To mould thy flesh and form thy mind, Though every thought, word, action, will, Was framed by powers beyond thee, still Thou art thyself, O man! |