[UNDER THE SNOW]
IF green the corn and burning the volcano,
Though snowclad, buried under rocks of ice,
Why shall the heart not love and burn in waving
Expectant green, or rising flames of hot
Enthusiasm, or burst into a torrent
Of wrath, though snow the summit long hath crowned?
Behold! The field is green, the seed has risen
That thou hast thrown into these aching furrows,
Once ploughed by Destiny, and sown with sorrow
And watered with the wells of tears, that dropped
Upon each grain and flowed through all the furrows.
They see the snow upon thine head, but not
The corn and not the threat'ning furnace of
Thy soul. They think it is extinct, they hope
Thou hast forgotten, that the gentle warmth
They feel is sunshine, not the stormy fire,
That cannot cease to burn: for it remembers.
[SOLITUDE]
THE greatest friend, the friend that dwells with thee,
When the wild turmoil of the world is thrust
Aside, when e'en thy smile may rest, that shield,
That weapon, armour, gauntlet, laid aside,
Will leave thy soul to sculpt thy features with
Her own deep chisel; when before thyself
Thou standest, as before thy judge and master,
An outcry goeth forth from thee towards
Thyself, then will great solitude enfold
Thee, and her wings will hush the tempest.
Fear not that angel's gravity, the look
His searching eye will plunge into thy heart.
Fear not the whisp'ring of his lips: Remember!
For ev'ry word of thine, each working of
Thy soul is booked, indelible the writing,
It is encircled in the movement of
The worlds and has its history. Thy soul,
Itself a world, belongs to Solitude. It is
So lonely that no crowd of friends, nor e'en
One friend can take its loneliness away.
There is but Solitude that can surround
Thy soul with beings and thy heart with sight.
It opens wide the floodgates of thy thought,
And what the world repressed, hemmed in and stifled,
Will rush like living waters through thy brain
And sweep away the nothingness of things.
Great Solitude will let thee listen. Hark!
The voices of the Infinite are singing,
The thoughts of thousands who have thought before thee
Come crowding round thy brain and fill the air,
And seek a new expression on thy lips.
Thou art in such ennobling company,
That Solitude becomes the gorgeous feast,
For which thy soul is clothed in white and purple,
Thy feet unshod tread on the holy ground
Where God has spoken. Hark! Great Solitude
Hath thousand voices and a flood of light,
Be not afraid, enter the Sanctuary,
Thou wilt be taken by the hand and led
To Life's own fountain, never-ending Thought!