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What shall arrive with the cycle's change?

A novel grace and a beauty strange.

I will make an Eve, be the artist that began her, Shaped her to his mind!-Alas! in like manner They circle their rose on my rose tree.



Let them fight it out, friend! things have gone too far.
God must judge the couple: leave them as they are
-Whichever one 's the guiltless, to his glory,
And whichever one the guilt 's with, to my story!


Why, you would not bid men, sunk in such a slough, Strike no arm out further, stick and stink as now, Leaving right and wrong to settle the embroilment, Heaven with snaky hell, in torture and entoilment?


Who's the culprit of them? How must he conceive God-the queen he caps to, laughing in his sleeve, ""T is but decent to profess oneself beneath her: "Still, one must not be too much in earnest, either!"


Better sin the whole sin, sure that God observes; Then go live his life out! Life will try his nerves, When the sky, which noticed all, makes no disclosure, And the earth keeps up her terrible composure,


Let him pace at pleasure, past the walls of rose,
Pluck their fruits when grape trees graze him as he goes!
For he 'gins to guess the purpose of the garden,
With the sly mute thing, beside there, for a warden.


What's the leopard-dog-thing, constant at his side,
A leer and lie in every eye of its obsequious hide?
When will come an end to all the mock obeisance,
And the price appear that pays for the misfeasance?


So much for the culprit. Who 's the martyred man? Let him bear one stroke more, for be sure he can! He that strove thus evil's lump with good to leaven, Let him give his blood at last and get his heaven!


All or nothing, stake it! Trusts he God or no?
Thus far and no farther? farther? be it so!
Now, enough of your chicane of prudent pauses,
Sage provisos, sub-intents and saving-clauses!


Ah, "forgive" you bid him? While God's champion lives, Wrong shall be resisted: dead, why, he forgives.

But you must not end my friend ere you begin him; Evil stands not crowned on earth, while breath is in him.


Once more-Will the wronger, at this last of all,
Dare to say, "I did wrong," rising in his fall?
No? Let go, then! Both the fighters to their places!
While I count three, step you back as many paces!


TAKE the cloak from his face, and at first
Let the corpse do its worst!

How he lies in his rights of a man!
Death has done all death can.

And, absorbed in the new life he leads,

He recks not, he heeds

Nor his wrong nor my vengeance; both strike
On his senses alike,

And are lost in the solemn and strange
Surprise of the change.

Ha, what avails death to erase
His offence, my disgrace?

I would we were boys as of old
In the field, by the fold:

His outrage, God's patience, man's scorn
Were so easily borne!

I stand here now, he lies in his placé:
Cover the face!




DEAR and great Angel, wouldst thou only leave
That child, when thou hast done with him, for me!
Let me sit all the day here, that when eve
Shall find performed thy special ministry,
And time come, for departure, thou, suspending
Thy flight, may'st see another child for tending,
Another still, to quiet and retrieve.


Then I shall feel thee step one step, no more,
From where thou standest now, to where I gaze,
-And suddenly my head is covered o'er

With those wings, white above the child who prays
Now on that tomb-and I shall feel thee guarding
Me, out of all the world; for me, discarding

Yon heaven thy home, that waits and opes its door.


I would not look up thither past thy head

Because the door opes, like that child, I know, For I should have thy gracious face instead,

Thou bird of God! And wilt thou bend me low Like him, and lay, like his, my hands together, And lift them up to pray, and gently tether

Me, as thy lamb there, with thy garment's spread?


If this was ever granted, I would rest

My head beneath thine, while thy healing hands Close-covered both my eyes beside thy breast,

Pressing the brain, which too much thought expands, Back to its proper size again, and smoothing Distortion down till every nerve had soothing, And all lay quiet, happy and suppressed.


How soon all worldly wrong would be repaired!
I think how I should view the earth and skies
And sea, when once again my brow was bared
After thy healing, with such different eyes.
O world, as God has made it! All is beauty:
And knowing this, is love, and love is duty.
What further may be sought for or declared?


Guercino drew this angel I saw teach

(Alfred, dear friend!)—that little child to pray, Holding the little hands up, each to each

Pressed gently, with his own head turned away Over the earth where so much lay before him Of work to do, though heaven was opening o'er him, And he was left at Fano by the beach.


We were at Fano, and three times we went
To sit and see him in his chapel there,
And drink his beauty to our soul's content

-My angel with me too: and since I care

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