And each shall lose thee at the last,
Hating, yet still desiring thee...
While I lie, where I have been cast,
Back in the sea.
So wait—and, lest the world transform
Thy soul and make thee wanton-wild,
Grow not so fast, glow not so warm,
Cling close, my child.
THE YOUNG MYSTIC
We sat together close and warm,
My little tired boy and I—
Watching across the evening sky
The coming of the storm.
No rumblings rose, no thunders crashed,
The west-wind scarcely sang aloud;
But from a huge and solid cloud
The summer lightnings flashed.
And then he whispered "Father, watch;
I think God's going to light His moon—"
"And when, my boy" ... "Oh, very soon—
I saw Him strike a match!"
HEALED
The winds like a pack of hounds
Snap at my dragging heels
With sudden leapings and playful bounds
They urge me out to the greener grounds
Where the butterfly sinks and the swallow reels
Giddy with Spring, with its smells and sounds—
And I go...