O God! if we could fly and leave behind us
Our crosses and our grief,
Could hide a season where they could not find us,
What infinite relief.
FOUND
Found—as I rushed through the great world’s mart,
In a race for gold and a pleasure quest,
A passionate, throbbing human heart
Suddenly found in my breast.
I had always laughed at the foolish word;
I had said aloud in my boasting glee,
That never a heart in my bosom stirred,
That my brain governed me.
I was proud with the sense of my might and power
‘It is will, not heart that wins,’ I said.
But I suddenly found one sad, strange hour
That the strength of my will had fled.
For up in my breast there rose supreme
A strong man’s heart, and all on fire:
Drunk with the wine of a wild, sweet dream,
And tortured with desire.
It is tossed with hope, and fear, and doubt,
It is mad with the fever of love’s unrest,
I wish to God I could pluck it out—
This heart I found in my breast.
A MAN’S REVERIE
How cold the old porch seems. A dreary chill
Creeps upward from the river at twilight,
And yet, I like to linger here at night,
And dream the summer tarries with us still.
The summer and the summer guests, or guest.
(Men rarely dream in plurals.) Over there
Beyond the pillars, stands the rustic chair,
As bare and empty as a robin’s nest.