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POEMS.
From out thy lips, doth it return to bless
Thy own heart many fold?"
With weariness
Of tone he answered, and almost with scorn,
"I am, of all, most lone in loneliness;
I starve with hunger treading out their corn;
I die of travail while their souls are born."
Thy own heart many fold?"
With weariness
Of tone he answered, and almost with scorn,
"I am, of all, most lone in loneliness;
I starve with hunger treading out their corn;
I die of travail while their souls are born."
DECORATION DAY.
I.
HE Eastern wizards do a wondrous thing,Which travellers, having seen, scarce dare to tell:
Dropping a seed in earth, by subtle spell
Of hidden heat they force the germ to spring
To instant life and growth; no faltering
'Twixt leaf and flower and fruit; they rise and swell
To perfect shape and size, as if there fell
Upon them all which seasons hold and bring.
But Love far greater magic shows to-day:
Lifting its feeble hands, which can but reach
The hand's-breadth up, it stretches all the way
From earth to heaven, and, triumphant, each
Sweet wilting blossom sets, before it dies,
Full in the sight of smiling angels' eyes.
II.
But, ah! the graves which no man names or knows;
Uncounted graves, which never can be found;
Uncounted graves, which never can be found;
