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Tho' Nature, red in tooth and claw With ravine, shriek'd against his creed

Who loved, who suffer'd countless ills,
Who battled for the True, the Just,
Be blown about the desert dust,
Or seal'd within the iron hills?

No more? A monster then, a dream, A discord. Dragons of the prime, That tare each other in their slime, Were mellow music match'd with him.

O life as futile, then, as frail!

O for thy voice to soothe and bless! What hope of answer, or redress? Behind the veil, behind the veil.


Peace; come away: the song of woe
Is after all an earthly song:

Peace; come away: we do him wrong To sing so wildly: let us go.

Come; let us go: your cheeks are pale; But half my life I leave behind: Methinks my friend is richly shrined; But I shall pass; my work will fail.

Yet in these ears, till hearing dies,

One set slow bell will seem to toll The passing of the sweetest soul That ever look'd with human eyes.

I hear it now, and o'er and o'er,
Eternal greetings to the dead;

And "Ave, Ave, Ave," said, "Adieu, adieu" for evermore.


So many worlds, so much to do,
So little done, such things to be,
How know I what had need of thee,
For thou wert strong as thou wert true?

The fame is quench'd that I foresaw,

The head hath miss'd an earthly wreath: I curse not nature, no, nor death; For nothing is that errs from law.

We pass; the path that each man trod
Is dim, or will be dim, with weeds:
What fame is left for human deeds
In endless age? It rests with God.

O hollow wraith of dying fame,

Fade wholly, while the soul exults, And self-infolds the large results Of force that would have forged a name.


As sometimes in a dead man's face,

To those that watch it more and more, A likeness, hardly seen before, Comes out-to some one of his race:

So, dearest, now thy brows are cold,

I see thee what thou art, and know
Thy likeness to the wise below,
Thy kindred with the great of old.

But there is more than I can see,
And what I see I leave unsaid,

Nor speak it, knowing Death has made His darkness beautiful with thee.


This truth came borne with bier and pall,
I felt it, when I sorrow'd most,
"Tis better to have loved and lost,
Than never to have loved at all.

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Sweet after showers, ambrosial air,
That rollest from the gorgeous gloom
Of evening over brake and bloom
And meadow, slowly breathing bare

The round of space, and rapt below

Thro' all the dewy-tassell'd wood,
And shadowing down the horned flood
In ripples, fan my brows and blow

The fever from my cheek, and sigh

The full new life that feeds thy breath Throughout my frame, till Doubt and Death, Ill brethren, let the fancy fly

From belt to belt of crimson seas
On leagues of odour streaming far,
To where in yonder orient star
A hundred spirits whisper "Peace."


Risest thou thus, dim dawn, again,

So loud with voices of the birds, So thick with lowings of the herds, Day, when I lost the flower of men; Jiriczek, Englische Dichter.


Who tremblest thro' thy darkling red
On yon swoll'n brook that bubbles fast
By meadows breathing of the past,
And woodlands holy to the dead;

Who murmurest in the foliaged eaves
A song that slights the coming care,
And Autumn laying here and there
A fiery finger on the leaves;

Who wakenest with thy balmy breath
To myriads on the genial earth,
Memories of bridal, or of birth,
And unto myriads more, of death.

O wheresoever those may be,

Betwixt the slumber of the poles, To-day they count as kindred souls; They know me not, but mourn with me.


Who loves not Knowledge? Who shall rail Against her beauty? May she mix.

With men and prosper! Who shall fix Her pillars? Let her work prevail.

But on her forehead sits a fire:

She sets her forward countenance And leaps into the future chance, Submitting all things to desire.

Half-grown as yet, a child, and vain—
She cannot fight the fear of death.
What is she, cut from love and faith,
But some wild Pallas from the brain

Of Demons? fiery-hot to burst

All barriers in her onward race
For power. Let her know her place;
She is the second, not the first.

A higher hand must make her mild,
If all be not in vain; and guide
Her footsteps, moving side by side
With wisdom, like the younger child:

For she is earthly of the mind,

But Wisdom heavenly of the soul. O, friend, who camest to thy goal So early, leaving me behind,

I would the great world grew like thee,
Who grewest not alone in power
And knowledge, but by year and hour
In reverence and in charity.


There rolls the deep where grew the tree.
O earth, what changes hast thou seen!

There where the long street roars, hath been The stillness of the central sea.

The hills are shadows, and they flow
From form to form, and nothing stands;
They melt like mist, the solid lands,
Like clouds they shape themselves and go.

But in my spirit will I dwell,

And dream my dream, and hold it true;
For tho' my lips may breathe adieu,

I cannot think the thing farewell.

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