Which lesser souls inherit:
All gods to thee their garlands bear,—
Take one from Love and wear it!
THE HEART OF NEW ENGLAND.
O long are years of waiting, when lovers’ hearts are bound
By words that hold in life and death, and last the half-world round;
Long, long for him who wanders far and strives with all his main,
But crueller yet for her who bides at home and hides her pain!
And lone are the homes of New England.
’Twas in the mellow summer I heard her sweet reply;