For the structure that we raise, Are the blocks with which we build. Truly shape and fashion these; Leave no yawning gaps between ; Think not, because no man sees, Such things will remain unseen. In the elder days of Art, Builders wrought with greatest care Each minute and unseen part; For the Gods see everywhere. Let us do our work as well, Both the unseen and the seen; Make the house, where Gods may dwell, Beautiful, entire, and clean. Else our lives are incomplete,. Build to-day, then, strong and sure, Shall to-morrow find its place. Thus alone can we attain To those turrets, where the eye Sees the world as one vast plain, And one boundless reach of sky. The large Newfoundland house-dog They walked not under the lindens, The birds sang in the branches, Will be heard in dreams alone! And the boy that walked beside me, Why closer in mine, ah! closer, TA SUSPIRIA. AKE them, O Death! and bear away Whatever thou canst call thine own! Thine image, stamped upon this clay, Doth give thee that, but that alone! Take them, O Grave! and let them lie As garments by the soul laid by, Take them, O great Eternity! And trails its blossoms in the dust. THE LADDER OF ST. AUGUSTINE. 65 THE LADDER OF ST. AUGUSTINE. AINT AUGUSTINE! well hast thou said, A ladder, if we will but tread Beneath our feet each deed of shame! All common things, each day's events, The low desire, the base design, That makes another's virtues less; The revel of the ruddy wine, The longing for ignoble things; The strife for triumph more than truth; The hardening of the heart, that brings Irreverence for the dreams of youth; All thoughts of ill; all evil deeds, The action of the nobler will; All these must first be trampled down We have not wings, we cannot soar; The cloudy summits of our time. B The mighty pyramids of stone The distant mountains, that uprear The heights by great men reached and kept, Standing on what too long we bore With shoulders bent and downcast eyes, A HAUNTED HOUSES. LL houses wherein men have lived and died Are haunted houses. Through the open doors The harmless phantoms on their errands glide, With feet that make no sound upon the floors. We meet them at the door-way, on the stair, A sense of something moving to and fro. |