CHILD O Mother, lay your hand on my brow! O mother, mother, where am I now? Why is the room so gaunt and great? Why am I lying awake so late? MOTHER Fear not at all: the night is still. Nothing is here that means you ill— Nothing but lamps the whole town through, And never a child awake but you. CHILD Mother, mother, speak low in my ear, Some of the things are so great and near, Some are so small and far away, I have a fear that I cannot say. What have I done, and what do I fear, And why are you crying, mother dear? MOTHER Out in the city, sounds begin, Thank the kind God, the carts come in! An hour or two more, and God is so kind, The day shall be blue in the window-blind, Then shall my child go sweetly asleep, And dream of the birds and the hills of sheep.

XXVII

IN MEMORIAM F.A.S.

Yet, O stricken heart, remember, O remember How of human days he lived the better part. April came to bloom and never dim December Breathed its killing chills upon the head or heart. Doomed to know not Winter, only Spring, a being Trod the flowery April blithely for a while, Took his fill of music, joy of thought and seeing, Came and stayed and went, nor ever ceased to smile. Came and stayed and went, and now when all is finished, You alone have crossed the melancholy stream, Yours the pang, but his, O his, the undiminished Undecaying gladness, undeparted dream. All that life contains of torture, toil, and treason, Shame, dishonour, death, to him were but a name. Here, a boy, he dwelt through all the singing season, And ere the day of sorrow departed as he came. Davos, 1881.
XXVIII

TO MY FATHER

Peace and her huge invasion to these shores Puts daily home; innumerable sails Dawn on the far horizon and draw near; Innumerable loves, uncounted hopes To our wild coasts, not darkling now, approach: Not now obscure, since thou and thine are there, And bright on the lone isle, the foundered reef, The long, resounding foreland, Pharos stands. These are thy works, O father, these thy crown; Whether on high the air be pure, they shine Along the yellowing sunset, and all night Among the unnumbered stars of God they shine; Or whether fogs arise and far and wide The low sea-level drown—each finds a tongue And all night long the tolling bell resounds: So shine, so toll, till night be overpast, Till the stars vanish, till the sun return, And in the haven rides the fleet secure. In the first hour, the seaman in his skiff Moves through the unmoving bay, to where the town Its earliest smoke into the air upbreathes, And the rough hazels climb along the beach. To the tugged oar the distant echo speaks. The ship lies resting, where by reef and roost Thou and thy lights have led her like a child. This hast thou done, and I—can I be base? I must arise, O father, and to port Some lost, complaining seaman pilot home.
XXIX

IN THE STATES