Episodes

I HAVE come the selfsame pathTo the selfsame door,Years have left the roses thereBurning as before.While I watch them in the windQuick the hot tears start—Strange so frail a flame outlastsFire in the heart.

Still asOn windless nightsThe moon-cast shadows are,So still will be my heart when IAm dead.

The calm,Cool face of the riverAsked me for a kiss.

Visible, invisible,A fluctuating charm,An amber-colored amethystInhabits it; your armApproaches, andIt opens andIt closes;You have meantTo catch it,And it shrivels;You abandonYour intent—It opens, and itCloses and youReach for it—The blueSurrounding itGrows cloudy, andIt floats awayFrom you.

The net of law is spread so wide,No sinner from its sweep may hide.Its meshes are so fine and strong,They take in every child of wrong.O wondrous web of mystery!Big fish alone escape from thee!

Nature’s first green is gold,Her hardest hue to hold.Her early leaf’s a flower;But only so an hour.Then leaf subsides to leaf.So Eden sank to grief,So dawn goes down to day.Nothing gold can stay.

Thy feet are whiteUpon the foam of the sea;Hold me fast, thou bright Swan,Lest I stumble,And into deep waters.

Thy feet,That are like little, silver birds,Thou hast set upon pleasant ways;Therefore I will follow thee,Thou Dove of the Golden Eyes,Upon any path will I follow thee,For the light of thy beautyShines before me like a torch.

THE dying need but little, dear,—A glass of water’s all,A flower’s unobtrusive faceTo punctuate the wall,A fan, perhaps, a friend’s regret,And certainly that oneNo color in the rainbowPerceives when you are gone.

Avenues of dreamsBoulevards of painMoving black streamsShimmering like rain.

Swiftly walk o'er the western wave,Spirit of Night!Out of the misty eastern cave,Where, all the long and lone daylight,Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear,Which make thee terrible and dear,—Swift be thy flight!

This lovely flower fell to seed;Work gently, sun and rain;She held it as her dying creedThat she would grow again.

I stand amid the roarOf a surf-tormented shore,And I hold within my handGrains of the golden sand —How few! yet how they creepThrough my fingers to the deep,While I weep — while I weep!O God! Can I not graspThem with a tighter clasp?O God! can I not saveOne from the pitiless wave?Is all that we see or seemBut a dream within a dream?

Above the quiet dock in mid night,Tangled in the tall mast’s corded height,Hangs the moon. What seemed so far awayIs but a child’s balloon, forgotten after play.

ANY color, so long as it’s red,Is the color that suits me best,Though I will allow there is much to be saidFor yellow and green and the rest;But the feeble tints which some affectIn the things they make or buyHave never—I say it with all respect—Appealed to my critical eye.

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,And nodding by the fire, take down this book,And slowly read, and dream of the soft lookYour eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;How many loved your moments of glad grace,And loved your beauty with love false or true,But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,And loved the sorrows of your changing face;And bending down beside the glowing bars,Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fledAnd paced upon the mountains overheadAnd hid his face ami...

Love on his errand bound to goCan swim the flood and wade through snow,Where way is none, ’t will creep and windAnd eat through Alps its home to find.

The Scorpion is as black as soot,He dearly loves to bite;He is a most unpleasant bruteTo find in bed, at night.

Love built a stately house, where Fortune came,And spinning fancies, she was heard to sayThat her fine cobwebs did support the frame,Whereas they were supported by the same;But Wisdom quickly swept them all away.

The half-moon westers low, my love,And the wind brings up the rain;And wide apart lie we, my love,And seas between the twain.I know not if it rains, my love,In the land where you do lie;And oh, so sound you sleep, my love,You know no more than I.

Down in a green and shady bed,A modest violet grew,Its stalk was bent, it hung its head,As if to hide from view.And yet it was a lovely flower,Its colours bright and fair;It might have graced a rosy bower,Instead of hiding there,Yet there it was content to bloom,In modest tints arrayed;And there diffused its sweet perfume,Within the silent shade.Then let me to the valley go,This pretty flower to see;That I may also learn to growIn sweet humility.

The dawn was apple-green,The sky was green wine held up in the sun,The moon was a golden petal between.She opened her eyes, and greenThey shone, clear like flowers undone,For the first time, now for the first time seen.

Twin stars through my purpling pane,The shriveling huskOf a yellowing moon on the wane -And the dusk.

I was angry with my friend:I told my wrath, my wrath did end.I was angry with my foe:I told it not, my wrath did grow.And I watered it in fears,Night and morning with my tears;And I sunned it with smiles,And with soft deceitful wiles.And it grew both day and night,Till it bore an apple bright;And my foe beheld it shine,And he knew that it was mine.And into my garden stoleWhen the night had veiled the pole:In the morning glad I seeMy foe outstretched beneath the tree.