I drench my spirit in ecstasy, consoled,
And my gaze trembles toward the azure arc,
When in the wide world-records I behold
Flame like a meteor God's finger thro' the dark
But if, at times, bowed over the abyss
Wherein man crawls toward immortality,—
Beholding here how sore his suffering is,
I make my prayer with tears, it is for Liberty.
TO THE MEMORY OF SIDNEY LANIER.
Sullenly falls the rain,
Still hangs the dripping leaf,
And ah, the pain!—
The slow, dull ache of my grief,
That throbs—"In vain, in vain,—
You have garnered your sheaf!"
You have garnered your sheaf, with the tares
Therein, and unripe wheat,—
All that Death spares,
Who has come with too swift feet,
Not turning for any prayers
Nor all who entreat.
They entreated with tears. But I—
Ah me, all I can say
Is only a cry!
I had loved you many a day,
Yet never had fate drawn nigh
My way to your way.
My spirit made swift with love
Went forth to you in your place
Far off and above
Tho' we met not face to face,
My Elder Brother, yet love
Had pierced through space!
ON READING THE POEMS OF SIDNEY LANIER.
Poet and Flute-player, that flute of thine
To me must ever seem thy perfect sign!
Tho' strenuously with breath divine inspired,
To thy strait law is due thy deathless line.