Each bears my own picked crew; And nobler cargoes wait for them Than ever India knew,My ships that sail into the East Across that outlet blue. Sometimes they seem like living shapes, The people of the sky,Guests in white raiment coming down From heaven, which is close by: I call them by familiar names, As one by one draws nigh, So white, so light, so spirit-like, From violet mists they bloom! The aching wastes of the unknown Are half reclaimed from gloom, Since on life's hospitable sea All souls find sailing-room. The ocean grows a weariness With nothing else in sight; Its east and west, its north and south, Spread out from morn to night: We miss the warm, caressing shore, Its brooding shade and light. A part is greater than the whole; By hints are mysteries told; The fringes of eternity, God's sweeping garment-fold, In that bright shred of glimmering sea, I reach out for, and hold. The sails, like flakes of roseate pearl, Float in upon the mist; The waves are broken precious stones, Sapphire and amethyst, Out through the utmost gates of space, Past where the gray stars drift, To the widening Infinite, my soul Glides on, a vessel swift; Yet loses not her anchorage In yonder azure rift. Here sit I, as a little child: The threshold of God's door Is that clear band of chrysoprase; Now the vast temple floor, The blinding glory of the dome I bow my head before. The universe, O God, is home, In height or depth, to me; Yet here upon thy footstool green Content am I to be; Glad, when is opened to my need Some sea-like glimpse of thee. [From Hints.] HEAVEN NEAR THE VIRTUOUS. THEY whose hearts are whole and strong, Loving holiness, Heaven to them is close in sight Only the anointed eye Sees in common things,Gleams dropped daily from the sky; Heavenly blossomings. To the hearts where light has birth Nothing can be drear; Washed from celestial basement walls Budding through the bloom of earth, By suns unsetting kissed. Heaven is always near. NEW WORLDS. WITH my beloved I lingered late one night. At last the hour when I must leave her came: But, as I turned, a fear I could not name Possessed me that the long sweet Should perish. What if Death, ere not the same Each should appear to each in morning light? Changed did I find her, truly, the next day: Ne'er could I see her as of old again, And let her beauty pour through every vein Sunlight and life, part of me. the lover Thus With each new morn a new world may discover. THE LILY-POND. SOME fairy spirit with his wand, And spread this film upon the pond, For here the musing soul is merged In moods no other scene can bring, And sweeter seems the air when scourged With wandering wild-bees' murmuring. One ripple streaks the little lake, Sharp purple-blue; the birches, thin And silvery, crowd the edge, yet break To let a straying sunbeam in. How came we through the yielding wood, That day, to this sweet-rustling Oh, there together while we stood, In sleepy light; and even now His glimmering beauty doth return Upon me when the soft winds blow, And lilies toward the sunlight yearn. The yielding wood? And yet 'twas loth To yield unto our happy march; That strange mood seemed to draw a Doubtful it seemed, at times, if both cloud away, Could pass its green, elastic arch. We fly-still sways and swings around One scanty circle's starry bound. O ye ho, boys! Spread her wings! Ah, many a month those stars have shone, And many a golden morn has flown, If but the wind holds, short the run: We'll sail in with to-morrow's sun. O ye ho, boys! Spread her wings! Fair winds, boys: send her home! O ye ho! A FACE IN THE STREET. POOR, withered face, that yet was once so fair, Grown ashen-old in the wild fires of lust Thy star-like beauty, dimmed with earthly dust, Yet breathing of a purer native air; And, though so near we're drawing They who, whilom, cursed vultures, now, - 'Tis farther off I know not how 'Tis but a seeming; swiftly rush Patience, my mates! Though not this eve, We cast our anchor, yet believe, sought a share Of thy dead womanhood, their greed unjust Have satisfied, have stripped and left thee bare. Still, like a leaf warped by the autumn gust, And driving to the end, thou wrapp'st in flame And perfume all thy hollow-eyed decay, Feigning on those gray cheeks the blush that Shame Took with her when she fled long since away. Ah God! rain fire upon this foulsouled city That gives such death, and spares its men,- for pity! Pipe the glad birds that in the for- Life's grace and promise win the soul Hope floods the heart like sunshine after rain. The wood is past, and tranquil meadows wide, Bathed in bright vapor, stretch on every side. A MARCH VIOLET. BLACK boughs against a pale clear sky, [From Scenes in the Wood. Suggested by Slight mists of cloud-wreaths floating Robert Schumann.] NIGHT. WHITE stars begin to prick the wan blue sky, The trees arise, thick, black and Their slim, dark boles, gray, film- seen. The footpaths dumb with moss have lost their green. by: Soft sunlight, gray-blue smoky air, Quick seedlings stir, rich juices flow Mysterious shadows settle every-On where, seen budding boughs a warm flush glows, A passionate murmur trembles in the With tints of purple and pale rose. Sweet scents wax richer, freshened To kiss the cool brow. Let us rest with cool dews, The whole vast forest seems to breathe, to sigh With rustle, hum and whisper that confuse The listening ear, blent with the fitful cry Of some belated bird. In the far sky, Throbbing with stars, there stirs a weird unrest, Strange joy, akin to pain, fulfils the breast A longing born of fears and promises, A wild desire, a hope that heeds no bound. A ray of moonlight struggling through the trees Startles us like a phantom; on the ground Fall curious shades; white glory spreads around; blest With broad noon sunshine over all, Though here June's leafiest shadows fall. Young grass sprouts here. Look up! Is veiled by woven greenery. Here, when November stripped the I came to wrestle with a grief: I wondered why the Preacher saith, |