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OVER parched hill and plain
blame the rain or no,
From the caverned shores and seas
You may blame the wind or no,
DEAD? Not to thee, thou keen watcher, not silent,
not viewless, to thee, Immortal still wrapped in the mortal! I, from the
mortal set free, Greet thee by many clear tokens thou smilest to hear
and to see.
For I, when thou wakest at dawn, to thee am the enter
ing morn; And I, when thou walkest abroad, am the dew on the
leaf and the thorn, The tremulous glow of the noon, the twilight on har
vests of corn.
I am the flower by the wood-path, — thou bendest to
look in my eyes ; The bird in its nest in the thicket,
- thou heedest my love-laden cries ; The planet that leads the night legions, - thou liftest
thy gaze to the skies.
And I am the soft-dropping rain, the snow with its fluttering swarms ;
SPIRIT TO SPIRIT.
The summer-day cloud on the hilltops, that showeth
thee manifold forms; The wind from the south and the west, the voice that
sings courage in storms !
Sweet was the earth to thee ever, but sweeter by far to
thee now: How hast thou room for tears, when all times marvelest
thou, Beholding who dwells with God in the blossoming
sward and the bough!
Once as a wall were the mountains, once darkened
between us the sea ; No longer these thwart and baffle, forbidding my pas
sage to thee:
Immortal still wrapped in the mortal, I linger till thou AT DEATH'S DOOR.
art set free!
BELOVÈD, thou wouldst question me
That moment of the still, gray prime
The spirit through mine eyelids passed (Thy kisses sealed those windows last),
I touched, obscure, a threshold stone,
All void before, my spirit then
Along the road I had o'ergone,
Each day of life revealed stood,
And deed, and thought, and fitting dream, Showed clear as mote in sunny beam.