Sings to the stars its mountain minstrelsy,

And smiles down proudly on your murky plain;

'Tis vain to invite you—yet come up, come up,

Conquer your way toward the mountain-top!

[ TO MRS. ——.]

I cannot find the meaning out

That lies in wrong and pain and strife;

I know not why we grope through grief,

Tear-blind, to touch the higher life.