English

All day the spell of that dear play has lain
Upon me; and my thoughts, unceasingly,
Dream round its various happenings and round thee,
Who didst so fascinate my heart and brain.
I see thee standing now as thou didst stand
Last night upon the stage; thy high, sweet face
Uplifted to thy lover's, and the grace
Of thy young figure, circled by his hand,
Gowned in deep red, which seemed sad with thy sorrow:
And round the gown, and o'er the red, there swept
A veil of black, whose gathered meshes crept

From vast pavilions cold and grey,
My wingèd thoughts upmounting fly;
“Press on,” the cloud-horizons say,
“Your dreams are pathways up the sky.”
“Press on,” the beacon star-lamps tall
Of mighty constellations call.

A hundred thousand things I pass,—
Each is to me a thing apart,
A flake of snow, a blade of grass,
Its face I see, but not its heart;
I lack the magic cord that ties
All things I wis, to make me wise.

And yet a music sweet and dim
Swells often to a strain sublime,

Servant of God, of thee the world had need,
For this thy glory, this thy triple crown,
Thy soul from out its battlemented creed
Glowed with that love which melts all barriers down.

Canst thou, Annette, thy lover see?
His trembling love unfolded hear?
And mark the while th' impassion'd tear,
Th' impassion'd tear of agony?

Adown his anxious features steal,
Nor then one burst of pity feel?
But, as bereav'd of ev'ry sense,
Look on with cold indifference.
Go, then, Annette, in all thy charms,
Go bless some gayer, happier, arms;
Go, rest secure, thy fear give o'er,
These eyes shall follow thee no more;
And never shall these lips impart
One thought of all that rends my heart.

The hills may crumble into dust,
The earth may swallow up the sea,
But naught can shake my living trust
In Him whose firm hands moulded me.

For when I draw myself apart
From things which make my vision dim,
Deep in the silence of my heart
He meets me, and I speak with Him.

I LIVE in the heart of a garden
With cypresses all about;
To the east and west, and the south and north,
Straight shadowy paths run out.

There are ancient gods in my garden;
They have faces young and pale;
And a hundred thousand roses here
Enrapture the nightingale.

Yet, among the gods of the garden,
The roses and gods, I think,
Daylong, of a far-off clover field,
And the song of a bob-o-link.

We looked to Joy as furrows to the sun
In sowing time. Of that relentless heat
That spares the blade to blast the ripened wheat
How should we know, with summer but begun?
We followed Joy, nor knew how swiftly run
The untraceable and unreturning feet.
That quest I have no courage to repeat;
I am content; I ask no grace save one:
Lord, I will bear my own heart's utmost pain;
I will go softly, with bent, humbled head;
I will not strive, nor cry, nor pray again,
If Thou wilt hear in this my need extreme,

Far in the forest shade,
Free as the deer to roam,
Where ne'er a fence was laid,
I'll search me out a home.
I love not cities vast,
Where want and wealth abide,
And all extremes are cast
To jumble side by side.

Far in the leafy woods,
Beside the lonely stream,
Where avarice ne'er intrudes
Her snorting car of steam;
Give me the cabin rude
Of unhewn beechen-tree,
And one both fair and good,
With heart that beats for me.

Away with pictured walls
Of gaudy banquet-room!

Here upon the mountain-side
Till now we met together;
Here I won my woodland bride,
In flush of summer weather.
Green was then the linden-bough,
This dear retreat that shaded;
Autumn winds are round me now,
And the leaves have faded.

She whose heart was all my own,
In this summer-bower,
With all pleasant things has flown,
Sunbeam, bird, and flower!
But her memory will stay
With me, though we're parted—
From the scene I turn away,
Lone and broken-hearted!

Hail , Music! all hail!
Earth's languages fail
To tell what thou tellest to me!
O spirit divine,
Space cannot confine,
All hearts are led captive by thee!

At a mortal's command,
From the mystical land
Where the spirit of Harmony dwells,
And the great river starts
That flows through all hearts,
Thou com'st with thy magical spells.

To celestial spheres,
Seen by sages and seers
On the rush of thy magical tide,
I am borne over time
To the regions sublime,