In the dread joy and fury of the fight. For I am the spirit of youth that cannot change, Nor cease, nor suffer woe; And I am the spirit of beauty that doth range Through natural forms and motions, and each show Of outward loveliness. With me have birth All gentleness and joy in all the earth. Raphael knew me, and showed the world my face; Me Homer knew, and all the singing race, For I am the spirit of light, and life, and mirth. THE CELESTIAL PASSION O WHITE and midnight sky! O starry bath! Wash me in thy pure, heavenly, crystal flood; Cleanse me, ye stars, from earthly soil and scath; Let not one taint remain in spirit or blood! Receive my soul, ye burning, awful deeps; Touch and baptize me with the mighty power That in ye thrills, while the dark planet sleeps; Make me all yours for one blest, secret hour! O glittering host! O high angelic choir! So shall my days be full of heavenly light! I COUNT MY TIME BY TIMES THAT I MEET THEE I COUNT my time by times that I meet thee; These are my yesterdays, my morrows, noons, And nights; these my old moons and my new moons. Slow fly the hours, or fast the hours do flee, If thou art far from or art near to me: Darkness is light, and sorrow cannot be. Thou art my dream come true, and thou my dream; The air I breathe, the world wherein I dwell; My journey's end thou art, and thou the way; Thou art what I would be, yet only seem ; Thou art my heaven and thou art my hell; Thou art my ever-living judgment-day. A precious jewel carved most curiously; A two-edged sword, a star, a song, — ah me! Sometimes a heavy-tolling funeral bell. This was the flame that shook with Dante's breath, The solemn organ whereon Milton played, And the clear glass where Shakespeare's shadow falls: A sea this is, beware who ventureth! EVENING IN TYRINGHAM VALLEY WHAT domes and pinnacles of mist and fire Are builded in yon spacious realms of light All silently, as did the walls aspire Templing the ark of God by day and night! Noiseless and swift, from darkening ridge to ridge, Through purple air that deepens down the day, Over the valley springs a shadowy bridge. The evening star's keen, solitary ray Makes more intense the silence, and the glad, Unmelancholy, restful, twilight gloomSo full of tenderness, that even the sad Remembrances that haunt the soul take bloom Like that on yonder mountain. Now the bars Of sunset all burn black; the day doth fail, And the skies whiten with the eternal stars. Oh, let thy spirit stay with me, sweet vale! SHERMAN GLORY and honor and fame and everlasting laudation For our captains who loved not war, but fought for the life of the nation; Who knew that, in all the land, one slave meant strife, not peace; Who fought for freedom, not glory; made war that war might cease. Glory and honor and fame; the beating of muffled drums; The wailing funeral dirge, as the flagwrapped coffin comes; Fame and honor and glory; and joy for a noble soul, For a full and splendid life, and laurelled rest at the goal. Glory and honor and fame; the pomp that a soldier prizes; The league-long waving line as the marching falls and rises; Rumbling of caissons and guns; the clatter of horses' feet, And a million awe-struck faces far down the waiting street. I rather felt than heard Yes, I have heard the nightingale. Yes, I have heard the nightingale. And I, how quick that sound Turned drops from a deep wound! How this heart was the thorn Which pierced that breast forlorn! Yes, I have heard the nightingale. 1 Helen Keller. With flowers at her maiden breast? - Helen, here is a book of song From the poet who loves you best. Edward Willard Watson ABSOLUTION I PRIEST of God, unto thee I come; Day doth dawn, though the mist lies deep. Trembling with dread from my home I fled; I have slain a man in the land of sleep. Him I met in a region dim, Where ever the sun shines faint and low, Where the moon is far as a tiny star, And rivers speed with a noiseless flow. In the tangled wood he was lying hid; But I saw him lurking, and then I knew 'Twas the soul of the one since time begun That had made me false when I would be true. My heart was hot and my anger fierce; Ask me not if his name I know, But demons of death and hate that wait And ever they cry the long hours through: "Murderer, though in dreams and sleep, Done is the deed with thy soul's consent, And there is no hope for Heaven's gate to ope, Nor will men have pity nor God relent." II Son, no sin on thy soul doth rest; "T was but a dream when all things seem For life is the life of the waking day; That heed not the world and its maddening din. III Out from the living, O God, I creep, Whither, O God, wilt thou send the soul Thou hast planted on earth and plucked away? For it grew, with the weeds of its evil deeds, In the wood and fen, in the mire and clay. IV Child of the earth, thou fragile flower Bending down to the wind that blew, Life shall seem but an evil dream; Wake to the life that is real and true. Cease thy dreaming, the world forget; Thou hast learned how the soul of man To the bright, clear light in the starry sky. Ages hence, when thy world and stars Love shall well in thy heart, and tears |