The snow whispers around me
And my wooden clogs
Leave holes behind me in the snow.
But no one will pass this way
Seeking my footsteps,
And when the temple bell rings again
They will be covered and gone.
Faint with love, the Lady of the South
Lay in the paradise of Lebanon
Under a heaven of cedar boughs: the drouth
Of love was on her lips; the light was gone
Out of her eyes--
FAST-ANCHOR'D, eternal, O love! O woman I love!
O bride! O wife! more resistless than I can tell, the thought of you!
--Then separate, as disembodied, or another born,
Ethereal, the last athletic reality, my consolation;
I ascend--I float in the regions of your love, O man,
O sharer of my roving life.
To-night, God knows what thing shall tide,
The Earth is racked and fain--
Expectant, sleepless, open-eyed;
And we, who from the Earth were made,
Thrill with our Mother's pain.
866
Fame is the tine that Scholars leave
Upon their Setting Names—
The Iris not of Occident
That disappears as comes—
1763
Fame is a bee.
It has a song—
It has a sting—
Ah, too, it has a wing.
"Faith" is a fine invention
When Gentlemen can see—
But Microscopes are prudent
In an Emergency.
Feed the Hungry, if you can,
Ask not the caste of the naked:
Gain a thousand times
The virtue,
Nor would you ever lose it,
Dear brother, Nunda !
Travel, trouble, music, art,
A kiss, a frock, a rhyme-
I never said they feed my heart,
But still they pass my time.
I'm tired of Love: I'm still more tired of Rhyme.
But Money gives me pleasure all the time.
