With deep-eyed thought and more than mortal ken.
A power was his beyond the touch of art
Or armèd strength—his pure and mighty heart.
THE PRESIDENT
(WRITTEN DURING THE FIRST ADMINISTRATION OF PRESIDENT CLEVELAND)
Not his to guide the ship while tempests blow,
War's billows burst, and glorious thunders beat;
Not his the joy to see an alien foe
Fly down the dreadful valley of defeat;
Not his the fame of that great soul and tried,
Who conquered civil peace by arms and love;
Nor his the emprize of one who lately died
Hand-claspt with foes, who weep his tomb above.
But this his task,—all passionless, unsplendid,—
To teach, in public place, a nobler creed;
To build a wall,—alone or well befriended,—
'Gainst the base partizan's ignoble greed.
Or will he fail, or triumph? History lays
A moment down her pen. A nation waits—and prays.
PART IV
ESSIPOFF
I
What is her playing like?
I ask—while dreaming here under her music's power.
'T is like the leaves of the dark passion-flower
Which grows on a strong vine whose roots, O, deep they sink,
Deep in the ground, that flower's pure life to drink.
