English

Slowly , with grateful calm, the night has come,
And the exultant life which filled the air
With fanning wings and song and sound is dumb;
Each piping pleasurer has found its lair,
And sleep and utter peace reign everywhere.

There is no stir of wind among the leaves,
And not one wrinkle on the darkling stream;
The reeds stand motionless in clustered sheaves,
And through the shades the water-lilies gleam,
Floating, enfolded in a languorous dream.

From many flowers that nestle out of sight

Have I not seen your face before
Where Perugino's angels stand
In those calm circles, and adore
With singing throat and lifted hand,

And pale hair folded crescent-wise,
About the placid forehead curled,
And the pale piety of eyes
Steadfast with peace upon the world?

I pause and watch you as you lean
Out of the doorway of your house,
With eyes grown happier to have seen
The Umbrian halo on your brows.

After the rain syringa bends
With scented blossoms at the ends
Of all its curving boughs. I think
That Pan himself might pause to drink
At such a fountain as I see.
The heavy headed peony
Drops silken petals, rosy sweet,
Upon a carpet for my feet.
And still the long wisteria drips
Its languid blossoms where the bee
In drowsiest contentment sips
From the deep wells of sweet that he
Has come so far to find. The rain
Sent him to hiding; with the sun
He shakes his pollen laden thighs

Once a Fairy called the Heart,
In a ruby Palace reigned;
More than kingdoms can impart—
More than wealth that Fairy gained!
He had armies, brave and strong;
Feelings high—Emotions true—
Passions that to gods belong—
Hosts which at his bidding flew!
From his Palace-chamber, small,
Ruby-built, and deep impearl'd,
Sent he missions unto all—
And his mandates ruled the World!

Sunbeams led by butterflies;—
Golden prisoners, beauty-bound!
Dragon moths of myriad dyes,
Swept like rainbows o'er the ground!

Of all the animals alive,
Whether it's birds or beeasts of prey,
Insecks, or anything to slive,
Like snaakes or lizards, far awaay
Wi' sneeaking habit;
Of all the pests you maay contrive,
I'll back the rabbit.

Yer corn in spring's all lush and green,
You smile to watch it sprout and grow,
But who is it, besides, has seen?
Who comes to crop each tender row?
Who's sure to nab it?
Who eeats as fast as he can go?
Of course … the rabbit.

If he would only live on weeds,

With restless agitations tost,
And low immers'd in woes,
When shall my wild distemper'd thoughts
Regain their lost repose?

Beneath the deep oppressive gloom
My languid spirits fade:
And all the drooping pow'rs of life
Decline to death's cold shade.

O Thou! the wretched's sure retreat,
These tort'ring cares controul,
And with the chearful smile of peace,
Revive my fainting soul!

Did ever thy relenting ear
The humble plea disdain?
Or when did plaintive mis'ry sigh,
And supplicate in vain?

Thou Pow'r supreme! by whose command I live,
The grateful tribute of my praise receive:
To thy indulgence I my Being owe,
And all the joys which from that Being flow.
Scarce eighteen suns have form'd the rolling year,
And run their destin'd courses round this sphere,
Since thy creative eye my form survey'd
Midst undistinguish'd heaps of matter laid.
Thy skill my elemental clay refin'd,
The vagrant particles in order join'd:
With perfect symmetry compos'd the whole,
And stamp'd thy sacred image on my soul:

'Mid my life's vicissitude,
Seeming evil mixed with good;
'Mid its pleasure and its pain,
Alternating loss and gain,—
Be thou still my staff and rod,
All-sustaining grace of God!

Like a pilgrim here I pass,
Darkly see as through a glass;
Little know I of the way,
What shall be I cannot say,—
Let thy light upon me shine,
All-sufficient grace divine!

'Mid my ever-changing mood
God who changeth not is good;
And his word within I have,
He will guard the life he gave,—
Sing, my soul, along thy road,

As silent as the sun-gleam in the forest,
As quiet as the shadow on the hill,
Is the shining of the Spirit in our dimness,
Is the falling of its calm upon our will.

But subtler than the sun-lift in the leaf-bud,
That thrills through all the forests, making May,
And stronger than the strength that plants the mountains,
Is that shining in the heart-lands, bringing day.

Just on the threshold of threescore-and-ten—
An upward pathway, shining more and more—
She heard the call, and passed within the door
Whence none that enters ever comes again.
Henceforth will Want await her step in vain,
Wise Charity will have a lessened store:
The beatings of a faithful heart are o'er,
And struggling Truth has lost a loyal brain.
Ah, foolish plaint! Hath God no other sphere
For virtue's use, and love, and loyalty,
That they should perish with the body's breath?
O noble Friend, thy life's long service here