BECAUSE thou hast the power and own'st the grace To look through and behind this mask of me (Against which years have beat thus blanchingly With their rains), and behold my soul's true face, The dim and weary witness of life's race,— Because thou hast the faith and love to see, Through that same soul's distracting lethargy, The patient angel waiting for a place
In the new Heavens,-because nor sin nor woe, Nor God's infliction, nor death's neighborhood, Nor all which others viewing, turn to go,
Nor all which makes me tired of all, self-viewed,- Nothing repels thee, . . . Dearest, teach me so To pour out gratitude, as thou dost, good!
Он, yes! they love through all this world of ours!
I will not gainsay love, called love forsooth.
I have heard love talked in my early youth,
And since, not so long back but that the flowers
Then gathered, smell still. Mussulmans and Giaours Throw kerchiefs at a smile, and have no ruth For any weeping. Polypheme's white tooth Slips on the nut if, after frequent showers, The shell is over-smooth, and not so much Will turn the thing called love, aside to hate, Or else to oblivion. But thou art not such A lover, my Beloved! thou canst wait
Through sorrow and sickness, to bring souls to touch, And think it soon when others cry "Too late."
I THANK all who have loved me in their hearts, With thanks and love from mine. Deep thanks to all Who paused a little near the prison-wall
To hear my music in its louder parts
Ere they went onward, each one to the mart's
Or temple's occupation, beyond call. But thou, who, in my voice's sink and fall When the sob took it, thy divinest Art's Own instrument didst drop down at thy foot To hearken what I said between my tears, Instruct me how to thank thee! Oh, to shoot My soul's full meaning into future years, That they should lend it utterance, and salute Love that endures, from Life that disappears!
My future will not copy fair my past"- I wrote that once; and thinking at my side My ministering life-angel justified
The word by his appealing look upcast To the white throne of God, I turned at last, And there, instead, saw thee, not unallied To angels in thy soul! Then I, long tried By natural ills, received the comfort fast, While budding, at thy sight, my pilgrim's staff Gave out green leaves with morning dews impearled. I seek no copy now of life's first half:
Leave here the pages with long musing curled, And write me new my future's epigraph, New angel mine, unhoped for in the world!
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 freely, as men strive for Right; I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints,-I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life!—and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.
BELOVED, thou hast brought me many flowers Plucked in the garden, all the summer through And winter, and it seemed as if they grew
In this close room, nor missed the sun and showers. So, in the like name of that love of ours,
Take back these thoughts which here unfolded too, And which on warm and cold days I withdrew
From my heart's ground. Indeed, those beds and bowers Be overgrown with bitter weeds and rue,
And wait thy weeding; yet here's eglantine, Here's ivy!-take them, as I used to do
Thy flowers, and keep them where they shall not pine. Instruct thine eyes to keep their colors true,
And tell thy soul their roots are left in mine.
He giveth his beloved sleep-Ps. cxxvii. 2.
Of all the thoughts of God that are Borne inward unto souls afar, Along the Psalmist's music deep, Now tell me if that any is,
For gift or grace, surpassing this- 'He giveth His beloved sleep'?
What would we give to our beloved? The hero's heart to be unmoved, The poet's star-tuned harp, to sweep, The patriot's voice, to teach and rouse,
The monarch's crown, to light the brows?— He giveth His beloved, sleep.
What do we give to our beloved? A little faith all undisproved,
A little dust to overweep,
And bitter memories to make
The whole earth blasted for our sake. He giveth His beloved, sleep.
'Sleep soft, beloved!' we sometimes say, But have no tune to charm away
Sad dreams that through the eye-lids creep.
But never doleful dream again
Shall break the happy slumber when
He giveth His beloved, sleep.
O earth, so full of dreary noises! O men, with wailing in your voices! O delved gold, the wailers heap! O strife, O curse, that o'er it fall! God strikes a silence through you all, He giveth His belovèd, sleep.
His dews drop mutely on the hill; His cloud above it saileth still,
Though on its slope men sow and reap. More softly than the dew is shed,
Or cloud is floated overhead,
He giveth His belovèd, sleep.
Aye, men may wonder while they scan A living, thinking, feeling man Confirmed in such a rest to keep; But angels say, and through the word I think their happy smile is heard- 'He giveth His beloved, sleep.'
For me, my heart that erst did go Most like a tired child at a show,
That sees through tears the mummers leap, Would now its wearied vision close, Would child-like on His love repose,
Who giveth His belovèd, sleep.
And, friends, dear friends,-when it shall be That this low breath is gone from me, And round my bier ye come to weep, Let One, most loving of you all, Say, 'Not a tear must o'er her fall; He giveth His belovèd, sleep.'
WAKE! For the Sun behind yon Eastern height Has chased the Session of the Stars from Night; And to the field of Heav'n ascending, strikes The Sultán's Turret with a Shaft of Light.
Before the phantom of False morning died, Methought a Voice within the Tavern cried, "When all the Temple is prepared within, Why lags the drowsy Worshipper outside?"
And, as the Cock crew, those who stood before The Tavern shouted-"Open then the Door!
You know how little while we have to stay, And, once departed, may return no more."
Now the New Year reviving old Desires, The thoughtful Soul to Solitude retires,
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