Favorite Poems
Sonnets From The Portuguese
Of cloudless climes and starry skies
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more,one
ray the less,
had half impaired the nameless
grace
Which waves in every raven tress
Or softly
lightens
o'er her face,
Where thoughts serenely sweet
express
How pure, how dear their dwelling
place.
And on that cheek and
o'er that brow
So soft, so calm, yet so
eloquent,
The
smiles that win, the tints that glow
But tell of
days
in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all
below,
A
heart whose love is
innocent.
Beside the springs of Dove,
A maid whom there were none to praise
And very few to love:
A violet by a mossy
stone
Half hidden from the eye.
-Fair as a
star, when only one
Is shining in the
sky.
She lived unknown, and few could
know
When Lucy ceased to be;
But she is in her
grave, and, oh,
The difference to
me!
His wonders to perform;
He plants His footsteps in the sea,
And rides upon the storm.
Deep in unfathomable mines
Of
never-failing skill
He treasures up His bright
designs,
And works His sovereign will.
Ye
fearful saints, fresh courage take;
The clouds ye
so much dread
Are big with mercy, and shall
break
In blessings on your head.
Judge not
the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust Him for His
grace;
Behind a frowning providence
He hides a
smiling face.
His purposes will ripen
fast,
Unfolding every hour;
The bud may have a
bitter taste,
But sweet will be the
flower.
Blind unbelief is sure to err,
And
scan His work in vain:
God is His own
interpreter,
And He will make it
plain.
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing,
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
Spite of despondence, of the the inhuman dearth
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,
of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkened ways
Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
From our dark spirits.
Such the sun, the moon,
Trees old and young,
sprouting a shady boon
For simple sheep; and such
are daffodils
With the green world they live in;
and clear rills
That for themselves a cooling
covert make
'Gainst the hot season; the mid-forest
brake,
Rich with sprinkling of fair-musk rose
blooms:
And such too are the grandeur of the
dooms
We have imagined for the mighty dead;
All
lovely tales that we have heard or read:
An
endless fountain of immortal drink
Pouring unto us
from the heaven's brink.
Nor do we merely feel
these essences
For one short hour; no, even as the
trees
That whisper round a temple become
soon
Dear as the temple's self, so does the
moon
The passion poesy, glories infinite,
Haunt
us until they become a cheering light
Unto our
souls, and bound to us so fast,
That, whether
there be shine, or gloom o'ercast,
They always
must be with us, or we
die.
Reject me not into the world again.
With you alone is excellance and peace.
Mankind made plausible, his purpose plain.
Enchanted in your air benign and shrewd,
With limbs a-sprawl and empty faces pale,
The spiteful and the stingy and the rude,
Sleep like the scullions in the fairy tale.
This moment is the best the world can give:
The tranquil blossam on the tortured stem.
Reject me not, sweet sounds! oh let me live,
Till doom espy my towers and scatter them,
A city spell-bound under the aging sun.
Music my rampart, and my only one.
Your Winter-garment of Repentance fling:
The Bird of Time has but a lttle way
To flutter--and the Bird is on the Wing.
A book of Verses underneath the
Bough,
A jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread--and
Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness--
Oh,
Wilderness were Paradise enow!
Some for the
Glories of this World; and some
Sigh for the
Prophet's Paradise to come;
Ah, take the Cash, and
let the Credit go,
Nor heed the rumble of a
distant Drum!
Ah, make the most of what we yet
may spend,
Before we too into the Dust
descend;
Dust into Dust, and under Dust to
lie,
Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and--sans
End!
The Moving Finger writes; and, having
writ,
Moves on: nor all your Piety nor
Wit
Shall
lure it back to cancel half a line,
Nor all your
Tears wash out a Word of it.
Bird thou never wert,
That from heaven, or near it,
Pourest thy full heart
In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.
Higher
still and higher,
From the earth thou
springest
Like a cloud of fire;
The deep blue
thou wingest,
And singing still dost soar, and
soaring ever singest.
In the golden
lightening
Of the sunken sun,
O'er which clouds
are bright'ning,
Thou dost float and run;Like an
unbodied joy whose race has just begun.
The
pale purple even
Melts around thy flight;
Like
a star of heaven
In the broad daylight
Thou art
unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight.
Keen
as are the arrows
Of that silver sphere,
Whose
intense lamp narrows
In the white dawn
clear,
Until we hardly see, we feel that it is
there.
All the earth and air What thou art we know not? Like a poet
hidden
With thy voice
is loud,
From one lonely
cloud
The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is
overflowed.
What
is most like thee?
From rainbow clouds there flow
not
Drops so bright to see
As from thy presence
showers a rain of melody.
In the light of thought,
Singing hymns
unbidden
Till the world is wrought
To
sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded
not:
A gallant knight,
In sunshine and in shadow,
Had journeyed long,
Singing a song,
In search of Eldorado.
But he grew old---
This knight so
bold---
And o'er his heart a shadow
Fell as he
found
No spot of ground
That looked like
Eldorado.
And as his strength
Failed him at
length
He met a pilgrim shadow---
"Shadow,"
said he,
"Where can it be---
This land of
Eldorado?"
"Over the mountains
Of the
moon,
Down the valley of the shadow,
Ride,
boldly ride,"
The shade replied,---
"If you
seek for Eldorado!"
Her breathing soft and low,
As in her breast the wave of life
Kept heaving to and fro.
So silently we seemed to
speak,
So slowly moved about,
As we had lent
her half our powers
To eke her living
out.
Our very hopes belied our fears,
Our
fears our hopes belied,---
We thought her dying
when she slept,
And sleeping when she
died.
For when the morn came dim and
sad,
And chill with early showers,
Her quiet
eyelids closed,---she had
Another morn than
ours.
Always so loving such a beautiful face,
Always so tender, always so kind,
An angel from heaven, this mother of mine.
Mother of mine, look down from above,
And guide and protect the ones that you love,
Who watched them in childhood with tender care,
And taught them to say their evening prayer.br>
Mother of mine, look down from the sky,
On your children that idolized you.
Your beauty of soul will always remain
With us on this earth till we meet again.
If I have caused one foot to go astray,
If I have walked in my own willful way,
Dear Lord, forgive!
If I have uttered idle words or vain,
If I turned aside from want or pain,
Lest I offend some other thru the strain,
Dear Lord, forgive!
If I have been perverse, or hard or cold,
If I have longed for shelter in thy fold,
When Thou hast given me some fort to hold,
Dear Lord, forgive!
Forgive the sins I have confessed to Thee;
Forgive the secret sins I do not see;
O guide me, love me, and my keeper be,
Amen.
On the wings of love, a silent prayer
Over the mountains, or over the sea,
That His peace may ever abide with thee.
Abide with thee when the shadows fall,
When day is done and the night birds call,
When morning comes and shadows flee
I know He still will abide with thee.
And kindly eyes, and lips grown softly sweet
With murmured blessings over sleeping babes.
There is something in their quiet grace
That speaks the calm of sabbath afternoons;
A knowledge in their deep, unfaltering eyes
That far outreaches all philosophy.
Time, with caressing touch, about them weaves
The silver-threaded fairy shawl of age,
While all the echoes of forgotten songs
Seem joined to lend a sweetness to their speech.
Old mothers! As they pass with slow-timed step
Their trembling hands cling gently to youth's strength.
Sweet mothers! As they pass one sees again
Old garden walks, old roses and old loves.
With all the force and all the living power
which the Creator gave me to apply.
I am going to try.
I am going to strive to live along lfe's way,
To sing, to laugh, to work, to play and pray,
To let all envy and all malice die,
I am going to try.
I am going to try to feel the life in me
Is but a trust, which in my custody
Must be accounted for to One on high.
I am going to try.
At every turning of the road,
The strong arms of a comrade kind,
To help me onward with my load;
And since I have no gold to give,
And love alone must make amends,
My daily prayer is while I live,---
"God make me worthy of my friends."