English

Here comes the thief
Men nickname Time,
Oh, hide you, leaf,
And hide you, rhyme.
Leaf, he would take you
And leave you rust.
Rhyme, he would flake you
With spotted dust.
Scurry to cover,
Delicate maid
And serious lover.
Girl, bind the braid
Of your burning hair;
He has an eye
For the lusciously fair
Who passes by.
O lover, hide—
Who comes to plunder
Has the crafty stride
Of unheard thunder.
Quick—lest he snatch,
In his grave need,
And sift and match,
Then sow like seed

For this there is no sound;
For this I cannot shape
Utterance to escape
Air where my breath is drowned.

So small a space it moves,
This, my cry of time;
No stronger than a rhyme
Its strength of being proves.

Lying at my throat,
Secret and unbroken,
It seemed its crying, spoken,
Might leap with arrowed note.

Into fluid light
Its baffled meanings run,
Made beautiful as the sun,
Equivocal as night.

I who strive for word
That will define like death,
Nourish a little faith

All faces melt in smiles and tears,
Stirr'd up by many a passion strange,
(Likings, loathings, wishes, fears,)
Till death:—then ends all change.
Then king and peasant, bride and nun,
Wear but one!

Spring, all beauty, aye laughs loud;
Summers smile, and Autumns rave;
But Winter puts on his white shroud,
And lies down in his grave;
And when the next soft season nears,
He disappears!

Merry Spring for childish face;
Summer for young manhood bold;
Autumn for a graver race;
Winter for the old!

If , sworn to love, my heart could change,
Or thine, and Beauty's captive, range,
The only difference then would be,
That fickle, though possess'd of thee,
With a new ringlet I should play,
Or to another dimple stray.

Hark ! the king bell, loud in his vesper choir.
As in between each golden roar doth come
That solemn, plangent, unregarded hum
Chiding the truant with archaic ire,
On Worcester mere far off, in elfin gyre
The wavelets laugh, and laughter showereth from
May's chestnut like a lampadarium
By Brasenose, with every point afire.

Yet over all roofs to the uttermost,
Call, Shepherd dear, from thy dream-haunted ground:
For some there be, on whatsoever coast,
In midst of any morrow's ordered round,

At the gate of the stately garden
The young man bravely stands;
Afar 'mid the trees the palace
Overlooks the circling lands.

At the heart of the world, at the centre,
Where the pulse of the universe beats,
He stands and he bids them open—
He is scarred with many defeats.

Behind him he sees the marvels
Of the untold worlds of space,
Of the myriad forms of living,
Of the spirit's visible face.

Before him he sees the splendor
Of the infinite might that creates,

All night my thoughts in wild commotion tossed,
And sleep forsook the precincts of my brain;
The question in quick-changing guises crossed
My soul, with fear and suffering in its train.

The night was dark; nor stars nor moon did shine,
And loudening winds by fits laughed mockingly;
Ever before my sight the silvery line
Of some idea seemed in scorn to flee.

With unremitting might I strove to reach
The thought that held within its scope the truth;
But still I failed, like infants trying speech,

After you have passed, the silence
Grown from your echoed tread,
Is like a flower that is unfolding
In my hands . . . . Soft petals spread
Mistily across my fingers;
Dim leaves twine in cooling strands
About my wrists. . . .
Your passing gives me
Quiet that fulfills my hands.

A fire was kindled on the plain
Of Lexington that gloweth yet;
Each blood drop from a patriot's heart
A lasting horror did beget,
Of tyrant's chain and despot's rule,
With which our sorrowing world is full.

Here on your altars glows the flame
Sacred to Truth and Charity;
Each Craft before the Sacred Name
Bows low in mute sincerity;
And peace has, like a spirit, shone
Within the walls of Lexington .

So mote it be till time shall end!
May circling ages bless the Band
That build the Mystic Temple here,

I wandered in unquiet mood
Beneath the stars: “Oh, Solitude
And Night,” I murmured, “ye are good!

“The day with ceaseless din is rife;
There is no room in this vexed life
For anything but noise and strife.

“When will the dreadful carnage cease,
And the sweet Sabbath dawn of Peace
Rise on the nation and increase?

“Oh, blessed Freedom! haste the day!
For only 'neath thy perfect sway
These horrors shall be rolled away.”

I looked up to the thronging stars;
Above, the flaming planet, Mars,