I "Poet! If on a Lasting Fame Be Bent"
Poet! if on a lasting fame be bent Thy unperturbing hopes, thou will not roam Too far from thine own happy heart and home;Cling to the lowly earth, and be content!
So shall thy name be dear to many a heart;So shall the noblest truths by thee be taught;The flower and fruit of wholesome human thought Bless the sweet labors of thy gentle art.
The brightest stars are nearest to the earth, And we may track the mighty sun above, Even by the shadow of a slender flower.
Always, O bard, humility is power!
And thou mayst draw from matters of the hearth Truths wide as nations, and as deep as love.
II "Most Men Know Love But as a Part of Life"
Most men know love but as a part of life;They hide it in some corner of the breast, Even from themselves; and only when they rest In the brief pauses of that daily strife, Wherewith the world might else be not so rife, They draw it forth (as one draws forth a toy To soothe some ardent, kiss-exacting boy)
And hold it up to sister, child, or wife.
Ah me! why may not love and life be one?
Why walk we thus alone, when by our side, Love, like a visible God, might be our guide?
How would the marts grow noble! and the street, Worn like a dungeon-floor by weary feet, Seem then a golden court-way of the Sun!
III "Life Ever Seems as from Its Present Site"
Life ever seems as from its present site It aimed to lure us. Mountains of the past It melts, with all their crags and caverns vast, Into a purple cloud! Across the night Which hides what is to be, it shoots a light All rosy with the yet unrisen dawn.
Not the near daisies, but yon distant height Attracts us, lying on this emerald lawn.
And always, be the landscape what it may --Blue, misty hill or sweep of glimmering plain --It is the eye's endeavor still to gain The fine, faint limit of the bounding day.
God, haply, in this mystic mode, would fain Hint of a happier home, far, far away!
IV "They Dub Thee Idler, Smiling Sneeringly"
They dub thee idler, smiling sneeringly, And why? because, forsooth, so many moons, Here dwelling voiceless by the voiceful sea, Thou hast not set thy thoughts to paltry tunes In song or sonnet. Them these golden noons Oppress not with their beauty; they could prate, Even while a prophet read the solemn runes On which is hanging some imperial fate.
How know they, these good gossips, what to thee The ocean and its wanderers may have brought?
How know they, in their busy vacancy, With what far aim thy spirit may be fraught?
Or that thou dost not bow thee silently Before some great unutterable thought?
V "Some Truths There Be Are Better Left Unsaid"
Some truths there be are better left unsaid;Much is there that we may not speak unblamed.
On words, as wings, how many joys have fled!
The jealous fairies love not to be named.
There is an old-world tale of one whose bed A genius graced, to all, save him, unknown;One day the secret passed his lips, and sped As secrets speed -- thenceforth he slept alone.
Too much, oh! far too much is told in books;Too broad a daylight wraps us all and each.
Ah! it is well that, deeper than our looks, Some secrets lie beyond conjecture's reach.
Ah! it is well that in the soul are nooks That will not open to the keys of speech.
VI "I Scarcely Grieve, O Nature! at the Lot"
I scarcely grieve, O Nature! at the lot That pent my life within a city's bounds, And shut me from thy sweetest sights and sounds.
Perhaps I had not learned, if some lone cot Had nursed a dreamy childhood, what the mart Taught me amid its turmoil; so my youth Had missed full many a stern but wholesome truth.
Here, too, O Nature! in this haunt of Art, Thy power is on me, and I own thy thrall.
There is no unimpressive spot on earth!
The beauty of the stars is over all, And Day and Darkness visit every hearth.
Clouds do not scorn us: yonder factory's smoke Looked like a golden mist when morning broke.
VII "Grief Dies Like Joy; the Tears Upon My Cheek"
Grief dies like joy; the tears upon my cheek Will disappear like dew. Dear God! I know Thy kindly Providence hath made it so, And thank thee for the law. I am too weak To make a friend of Sorrow, or to wear, With that dark angel ever by my side (Though to thy heaven there be no better guide), A front of manly calm. Yet, for I hear How woe hath cleansed, how grief can deify, So weak a thing it seems that grief should die, And love and friendship with it, I could pray, That if it might not gloom upon my brow, Nor weigh upon my arm as it doth now, No grief of mine should ever pass away.
VIII "At Last, Beloved Nature! I Have Met"
At last, beloved Nature! I have met Thee face to face upon thy breezy hills, And boldly, where thy inmost bowers are set, Gazed on thee naked in thy mountain rills.
When first I felt thy breath upon my brow, Tears of strange ecstasy gushed out like rain, And with a longing, passionate as vain, I strove to clasp thee. But, I know not how, Always before me didst thou seem to glide;And often from one sunny mountain-side, Upon the next bright peak I saw thee kneel, And heard thy voice upon the billowy blast;But, climbing, only reached that shrine to feel The shadow of a Presence which had passed.
IX "I Know Not Why, But All This Weary Day"
I know not why, but all this weary day, Suggested by no definite grief or pain, Sad fancies have been flitting through my brain;Now it has been a vessel losing way, Rounding a stormy headland; now a gray Dull waste of clouds above a wintry main;And then, a banner, drooping in the rain, And meadows beaten into bloody clay.
Strolling at random with this shadowy woe At heart, I chanced to wander hither! Lo!
A league of desolate marsh-land, with its lush, Hot grasses in a noisome, tide-left bed, And faint, warm airs, that rustle in the hush, Like whispers round the body of the dead!
X "Were I the Poet-Laureate of the Fairies"
(Written on a very small sheet of note-paper)
