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
A Farewell
I GO down from the hills half in gladness, and half with a pain I depart, Where the Mother with gentlest breathing made music on lip and in heart; For I know that my
The Everlasting Battle
WHEN in my shadowy hours I pierce the hidden heart of hopes and fears, They change into immortal joys or end in immemorial tears. Moytura’s battle still endures and in this human heart of
Day
IN day from some titanic past it seems As if a thread divine of memory runs; Born ere the Mighty One began his dreams, Or yet were stars and suns. But here an iron
Oversoul
THE EAST was crowned with snow-cold bloom And hung with veils of pearly fleece: They died away into the gloom, Vistas of peace-and deeper peace. And earth and air and wave and fire In
Transformations
WHAT miracle was it that made this grey Rathgar Seem holy earth, a leaping-place from star to star? I know I strode along grey streets disconsolate, Seeing nowhere a glimmer of the Glittering Gate,
The Earth Breath
FROM the cool and dark-lipped furrows Breathes a dim delight Through the woodland’s purple plumage To the diamond night. Aureoles of joy encircle Every blade of grass Where the dew-fed creatures silent And enraptured
Krishna
I PAUSED beside the cabin door and saw the King of Kings at play, Tumbled upon the grass I spied the little heavenly runaway. The mother laughed upon the child made gay by its
Rest
ON me to rest, my bird, my bird: The swaying branches of my heart Are blown by every wind toward The home whereto their wings depart. Build not your nest, my bird, on me;
The Dream of the Children
THE CHILDREN awoke in their dreaming While earth lay dewy and still: They followed the rill in its gleaming To the heart-light of the hill. Its sounds and sights were forsaking The world as
A New Theme
I FAIN would leave the tender songs I sang to you of old, Thinking the oft-sung beauty wrongs The magic never told. And touch no more the thoughts, the moods, That win the easy
The Last Hero
WE laid him to rest with tenderness; Homeward we turned in the twilight’s gold; We thought in ourselves with dumb distress- All the story of earth is told. A beautiful word at the last
The Voice of the Sea
THE SEA was hoary, hoary, Beating on rock and cave: The winds were white and weeping With foam dust of the wave. They thundered louder, louder, With storm-lips curled in scorn- And dost thou
The Divine Vision
THIS mood hath known all beauty, for it sees O’erwhelmed majesties In these pale forms, and kingly crowns of gold On brows no longer bold, And through the shadowy terrors of their hell The
On a Hillside
A FRIENDLY mountain I know; As I lie on the green slope there It sets my heart in a glow And closes the door on care. A thought I try to frame- I was