English

The river was ever a siren:
It sings to the reed-fringed shore;
It sings to the floating lilies,
And they love it more and more.
When the autumn leaves are golden
It gathers them all to its wave:
It takes, but it never tells them
That its waters are deep as the grave.

And it sings with a siren sweetness
As it eddies to and fro
To fairer things than blossoms,
With its tempting cold dark flow.
And some there are who listen,
And they plunge in the cold deep wave:
One moment the gold locks glisten—

Yet sweeter and yet sweeter as we pass
Towards bitter death that slays all songs and flowers,
Becomes the scent that hovers o'er the bowers
Of youth; yet lovelier the bright green grass;
Yet tenderer fair passion's burning hours;
Yet softer all the varied songs of love;
Yet bluer the clear spotless heavens above;
And yet more manifold life's glorious powers.

Now for the first time human life is fair
In that there is no life beyond the grave:
Now for the first time shines the morning air

Say not when all your scanty stores afford
Is spread at once upon the sparing board
What further shall this feeble life sustain.
And what shall cloth[e] these shivering limbs again
Say does not life its nurishment exceed
And the fair body its investing weed
Behold and look away your low despair
See the light tenants of the barren air
To them no stores or granereys belong
Nought but the woodland and the pleasing song
Yet your kind heavenly father bends his eye
On the least wing that flits along the sky

Cabo Tormentoso the sailors called it first,
And Stormy Cape all mariners shall find it evermore.
The passion of the hurricane on its iron rocks is nursed,
Veering winds of huge desire that thwart the plunging barque.
Pale witch-fires glisten on the wave and beacon from the shore,
And shipwrecked voices bid beware of gramarye accurst.
Cape of Good Hope! We seek it far across the waters dark,
But Cabo Tormentoso the sailors named it first.

By this wild cape the mariners go to their spicerie,

Life will finish the work you are doing.
You are only one who has joined the workers
In the morning, at noon or toward shadows.
Countless have toiled before you,
There will be countless toiling after.

The crowds in the street move faster and faster,
Their eyes are on invisible clocks that speed the hours,
They move fast and faster, they must know soon. . . .

There is a cause and they are comrades. . . .

This is the word to come where men will look for truth.
On every one of the streets of all the cities

My love's a rose,
A perfect flower.
Her beauty grows
With every hour.

And when she smiles,
A fragrance rare
My heart beguiles
With visions fair.

And when she pouts
At me forlorn,
I have no doubts
About the thorn!

The sun and all the stars shine on thy head,
The grass and blossoms all are at thy feet;
Nature's glad pageantries for thee are spread,
Her winds loosed for thee, seminal and sweet;
For thee young morn binds his bright sandals on;
Pale evening leads thee to the mother-fold;
The patient seasons serve thee: none are gone
Of all the glories thronging from of old.
Hoar silence sings thee her primeval lay;
Apt dream wraps round thee her enchanting light;
August companions walk with thee by day,

John sawr-O, John sawr-O…
John saw de holy number settin' on de golden altar!

It's a little while longer yere below, yere below, yere below,
It's a little while longer yere below, Before de Lamb of God!

And home to Jesus we will go, we will go, etc.;
We are de people of de Lord.
John sawr-O, etc.

Dere's a golden slipper in de heavens for you, etc.,
Before de Lamb of God.

I wish I'd been dere when prayer begun, etc.

To see my Jesus about my sins, etc.

Then home to glory we will go, etc.

Family treasures
Tarnish in the wicker trunk
I carry on board.

To-day my children came to me:
“Sidney Drew's dead!”
They said.

I hope that Sidney Drew can see,
Even from far eternity
Beyond these pallid April skies,
The tribute of my children's eyes.