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254

`Hope` is a thing with feathers —

That perches in the soul —
And sings the tune without words —
And never stops — at all —

And sweetest — in the Gale — is heard

And sore must be the storm —
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm —

I've heard it in the chillest land —

And on the strangest Sea —
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb — of Me.

* * *

303

The Soul selects her own Society —

Then — shut the Door —
To her divine Majority —
Present no more —

Unmoved-she notes the Chariots-pausing —

At her low Gate —
Unmoved — an Emperor is kneeling
Upon her Mat —

I've known her — from an ample nation

Choose One —
Then- close the Valves of her attention —
Like Stone —

* * *

313

I should have been too glad, I see —

Too lifted — for the scant degree
Of Life's penurious Round;
My little Circuit would have shamed
This new Circumference — have blamed
The homelier time behind.

I should have been too saved — I see —

Too rescued — Fear too dim to me
That I could spell the Prayer
I knew so perfect — yesterday —
That Scalding one — «Sabachthani» —
Recited fluent — here —

Earth would have been too much — I see —

And Heaven- not enough for me —
I should have had the Joy

Without the Fear — to justify —

The Palm — without the Calvary;
So, Saviour, Crucify —

Defeat whets Victory — they say —

The Reefs — in old Gethsemane —
Endear the Coast beyond!
'T is Beggars — Banquets best define;
'T is parching — vitalizes Wine, —
«Faith» bleats — to understand!

* * *

371

A precious-mouldering pleasure-'t is —

To meet an Antique Book,
In just the Dress his Century wore —
A privilege — I think —

His venerable Hand to take —

And warming in our own —
A passage back- or two- to make
To Times when he- was young —

His quaint opinions — to inspect —

His thoughts to ascertain
On Themes concern our mutual mind —
The Literature of Man —

What interested Scholars- most —

What Competitions ran
When Plato — was a Certainty —
And Sophocles — a Man —

When Sappho — was a living Girl —

And Beatrice wore
The Gown that Dante- deified —
Facts Centuries before

He traverses — familiar —

As One should come to Town
And tell you all your Dreams-were true —
He lived — where Dreams were born —

His presence is Enchantment,

You beg him not to go —
Old Volumes shake their Vellum Heads
And tantalize — just so —

409

THE BATTLE-FIELD.

They dropped like Flakes —

Tthey dropped like Stars —
Like Petals from a Rose —
When suddenly across the June
A wind with fingers — goes —

They perished in the Seamless Grass, —

No eye could find the place —
But God can summon every face
On his Repealless — List

.

* * *