Inheritance
AS flow the rivers to the sea
Adown from rocky hill or plain,
A thousand ages toiled for thee
And gave thee harvest of their gain;
And weary myriads of yore
Dug out for thee earth’s buried ore.
The shadowy toilers for thee fought
In chaos of primeval day
Blind battles with they knew not what;
And each before he passed away
Gave clear articulate cries of woe:
Your pain is theirs of long ago.
And all the old heart sweetness sung,
The joyous life of man and maid
In forests when the earth was young,
In rumours round your childhood strayed:
The careless sweetness of your mind
Comes from the buried years behind.
And not alone unto your birth
Their gifts the weeping ages bore,
The old descents of God on earth
Have dowered thee with celestial lore:
So, wise, and filled with sad and gay
You pass unto the further day.
Related poetry:
- Affinity YOU and I have found the secret way, None can bar our love or say us nay: All the world may stare and never know You and I are twined together so. You and I for all his vaunted width Know the giant Space is but a myth; Over miles and miles of pure deceit […]...
- Inheritance-His I. My face resembles your face Less and less each day. When I was young No one mistook whose child I was. Features build coloring Alone among my creamy fine-boned sisters Marked me Byron’s daughter. No sun set when you died, but a door Opened onto my mother. After you left She grieved her crumpled […]...
- The Creation I The God separated a spirit from Himself and fashioned it into Beauty. He showered upon her all the blessings of gracefulness and kindness. He gave her the cup of happiness and said, “Drink not from this cup unless you forget the past and the future, for happiness is naught but the moment.” And He also […]...
- Our Lady MOTHER of God! no lady thou: Common woman of common earth Our Lady ladies call thee now, But Christ was never of gentle birth; A common man of the common earth. For God’s ways are not as our ways: The noblest lady in the land Would have given up half her days, Would have cut […]...
- The River of Life The more we live, more brief appear Our life’s succeeding stages; A day to childhood seems a year, And years like passing ages. The gladsome current of our youth, Ere passion yet disorders, Steals lingering like a river smooth Along its grassy borders. But as the careworn cheek grows wan, And sorrow’s shafts fly thicker, […]...
- Treat 'Em Rough First time I dared propose, A callow lad was I; I donned my Sunday clothes, I wore my Old School Tie. Awaiting me Louise Was dolled to beat the band, So going on my knees I begged her hand. Oh yes, she gave me her hand, A box upon the ear; I could not understand, […]...
- They Know Not My Heart They know not my heart, who believe there can be One stain of this earth in its feelings for thee; Who think, while I see thee in beauty’s young hour, As pure as the morning’s first dew on the flower, I could harm what I love, as the sun’s wanton ray But smiles on the […]...
- Oh, see how thick the goldcup flowers Oh, see how thick the goldcup flowers Are lying in field and lane, With dandelions to tell the hours That never are told again. Oh may I squire you round the meads And pick you posies gay? ‘Twill do no harm to take my arm. ‘You may, young man, you may.’ Ah, spring was sent […]...
- The Inheritance Since you did depart Out of my reach, my darling, Into the hidden, I see each shadow start With recognition, and I Am wonder-ridden. I am dazed with the farewell, But I scarcely feel your loss. You left me a gift Of tongues, so the shadows tell Me things, and silences toss Me their drift. […]...
- The Spirit of the Gay WITH the glamour of the Gay How you made our hearts to flame; Gave each life some airy aim: Ever round you seemed to play Sunlight from some inner day. Dazzling as with red and gold; Rich with beauty, love and youth- How were we to know the truth, That if all the tale were […]...
- Inheritance/Improvisation Inheritance. I wasn’t raised to call Myself Black, Indian, Chinese “You’re human,” said my parents. That was all. By the west window sits a Chinese camphor chest Folded full of blankets and grandmother’s dresses. Tiny Chinese bones she had. They’ll never fit me But the fabric’s pretty. Atop the chest: a set of Mali drums. […]...
- An Irish Face NOT her own sorrow only that hath place Upon yon gentle face. Too slight have been her childhood’s years to gain The imprint of such pain. It hid behind her laughing hours, and wrought Each curve in saddest thought On brow and lips and eyes. With subtle art It made that little heart Through its […]...
- The Golden Age WHEN the morning breaks above us And the wild sweet stars have fled, By the faery hands that love us Wakened you and I will tread Where the lilacs on the lawn Shine with all their silver dews, In the stillness of a dawn Wrapped in tender primrose hues. We will hear the strange old […]...
- Stream Of Life The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day Runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures. It is the same life that shoots in joy through the dust of the earth In numberless blades of grass And breaks into tumultuous waves of leaves and flowers. It is the same […]...
- To the Myrtle UNFADING branch of verdant hue, In modest sweetness drest, Shake off thy pearly tears of dew, And decorate my breast. Dear emblem of the constant mind, Truth’s consecrated tree, Still shall thy trembling blossoms find A faithful friend in me. Nor chilling breeze, nor drizzling rain Thy glossy leaves can spoil, Their sober beauties fresh […]...
- My Dead Dream HAVE YOU found me, at last, O my Dream? Seven eons ago You died and I buried you deep under forests of snow. Why have you come hither? Who bade you awake from your sleep And track me beyond the cerulean foam of the deep? Would you tear from my lintels these sacred green garlands […]...
- The Night – Wind In summer’s mellow midnight, A cloudless moon shone through Our open parlour window, And rose-trees wet with dew. I sat in silent musing; The soft wind waved my hair; It told me heaven was glorious, And sleeping earth was fair. I needed not its breathing To bring such thoughts to me; But still it whispered […]...
- From This Hour the Pledge is Given From this hour the pledge is given, From this hour my soul is thine: Come what will, from earth of heaven, Weal or woe, thy fate be mine. When the proud and great stood by thee, None dared thy rights to spurn; And if now they’re false and fly thee, Shall I, too, falsely turn? […]...
- Alone From childhood’s hour I have not been As others were; I have not seen As others saw; I could not bring My passions from a common spring. From the same source I have not taken My sorrow; I could not awaken My heart to joy at the same tone; And all I loved, I loved […]...
- Thee, Thee, Only Thee The dawning of morn, the daylight’s sinking, The night’s long hours still find me thinking Of thee, thee, only thee. When friends are met, and goblets crown’d, And smiles are near, that once enchanted, Unreach’d by all that sunshine round, My soul, like some dark spot, is haunted By thee, thee, only thee. Whatever in […]...
- Remember Thee! Remember thee! yes, while there’s life in this heart, It shall never forget thee, all lorn as thou art; More dear in thy sorrow, thy gloom, and thy showers, Than the rest of the world in their sunniest hours. Wert thou all that I wish thee, great, glorious, and free, First flower of the earth, […]...
- PRESERVATION My maiden she proved false to me; To hate all joys I soon began, Then to a flowing stream I ran, The stream ran past me hastily. There stood I fix’d, in mute despair; My head swam round as in a dream; I well-nigh fell into the stream, And earth seem’d with me whirling there. […]...
- Lalla Rookh “How sweetly,” said the trembling maid, Of her own gentle voice afraid, So long had they in silence stood, Looking upon that tranquil flood “How sweetly does the moon-beam smile To-night upon yon leafy isle! Oft in my fancy’s wanderings, I’ve wish’d that little isle had wings, And we, within its fairy bow’rs, Were wafted […]...
- To James Whitcomb Riley On his “Book of Joyous Children” Yours is a garden of old-fashioned flowers; Joyous children delight to play there; Weary men find rest in its bowers, Watching the lingering light of day there. Old-time tunes and young love’s laughter Ripple and run among the roses; Memory’s echoes, murmuring after, Fill the dusk when the long […]...
- THE YOUTH AND THE MILLSTREAM [This sweet Ballad, and the one entitled The Maid of the Mill’s Repentance, were written on the occasion of a Visit paid by Goethe to Switzerland. The Maid of the Mill’s Treachery, To which the latter forms the sequel, was not written till the following Year.] YOUTH. SAY, sparkling streamlet, whither thou Art Going! With […]...
- 'Tis Sunrise Little Maid Hast Thou ‘Tis Sunrise Little Maid Hast Thou No Station in the Day? ‘Twas not thy wont, to hinder so Retrieve thine industry ‘Tis Noon My little Maid Alas and art thou sleeping yet? The Lily waiting to be Wed The Bee Hast thou forgot? My little Maid ‘Tis Night Alas That Night should be to thee […]...
- A Child Asleep How he sleepeth! having drunken Weary childhood’s mandragore, From his pretty eyes have sunken Pleasures, to make room for more – Sleeping near the withered nosegay, which he pulled the day before. Nosegays! leave them for the waking: Throw them earthward where they grew. Dim are such, beside the breaking Amaranths he looks unto – […]...
- Duality WHO gave thee such a ruby flaming heart And such a pure cold spirit? Side by side I know these must eternally abide In intimate war, and each to each impart Life from its pain, in every joy a dart To wound with grief or death the self allied. Red life within the spirit crucified, […]...
- The Lamb Little Lamb, who made thee Does thou know who made thee Gave thee life & bid thee feed. By the stream & o’er the mead; Gave thee clothing of delight, Softest clothing woolly bright; Gave thee such a tender voice. Making all the vales rejoice: Little Lamb who made thee Does thou know who made […]...
- NEW LOVE, NEW LIFE [Written at the time of Goethe’s connection With Lily.] HEART! my heart! what means this feeling? What oppresseth thee so sore? What strange life is o’er me stealing! I acknowledge thee no more. Fled is all that gave thee gladness, Fled the cause of all thy sadness, Fled thy peace, thine industry Ah, why suffer […]...
- The Playground of Life XIX One hour devoted to the pursuit of Beauty And Love is worth a full century of glory Given by the frightened weak to the strong. From that hour comes man’s Truth; and During that century Truth sleeps between The restless arms of disturbing dreams. In that hour the soul sees for herself The Natural Law, […]...
- The Grey Eros WE are desert leagues apart; Time is misty ages now Since the warmth of heart to heart Chased the shadows from my brow. Oh, I am so old, meseems I am next of kin to Time, The historian of her dreams From the long-forgotten prime. You have come a path of flowers. What a way […]...
- A Farewell Flow down, cold rivulet, to the sea, Thy tribute wave deliver: No more by thee my steps shall be, For ever and for ever. Flow, softly flow, by lawn and lea, A rivulet then a river: Nowhere by thee my steps shall be For ever and for ever. But here will sigh thine alder tree […]...
- The Gift “He gave her class. She gave him sex.” Katharine Hepburn on Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers He gave her money. She gave him head. He gave her tips on “aggressive growth” mutual funds. She gave him a red rose and a little statue of eros. He gave her Genesis 2 (21-23). She gave him Genesis […]...
- Sonnet 43 – How do I love thee? Let me count the ways How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of Being and ideal Grace. I love thee to the level of everyday’s Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light. I love thee […]...
- Lenore Ah, broken is the golden bowl! the spirit flown forever! Let the bell toll!- a saintly soul floats on the Stygian river; And, Guy de Vere, hast thou no tear?- weep now or nevermore! See! on yon drear and rigid bier low lies thy love, Lenore! Come! let the burial rite be read – the […]...
- On A Picture Screen Whence these twelve peaks of Wu-shan! Have they flown into the gorgeous screen From heaven’s one corner? Ah, those lonely pines murmuring in the wind! Those palaces of Yang-tai, hovering yonder- Oh, the melancholy of it!- Where the jeweled couch of the king With brocade covers is desolate,- His elfin maid voluptuously fair Still haunting […]...
- The Picture Of Little T. C. In A Prospect Of Flowers See with what simplicity This Nimph begins her golden daies! In the green Grass she loves to lie, And there with her fair Aspect tames The Wilder flow’rs, and gives them names: But only with the Roses playes; And them does tell What Colour best becomes them, and what Smell. Who can foretel for what […]...
- Suggested by the Cover of a Volume of Keats's Poems Wild little bird, who chose thee for a sign To put upon the cover of this book? Who heard thee singing in the distance dim, The vague, far greenness of the enshrouding wood, When the damp freshness of the morning earth Was full of pungent sweetness and thy song? Who followed over moss and twisted […]...
- THE MAID OF THE MILL'S REPENTANCE YOUTH. AWAY, thou swarthy witch! Go forth From out my house, I tell thee! Or else I needs must, in my wrath, Expel thee! What’s this thou singest so falsely, forsooth, Of love and a maiden’s silent truth? Who’ll trust to such a story! GIPSY. I sing of a maid’s repentant fears, And long and […]...