Filling my brain with form and word From thy full utterance unto men; Shapes that might ancient Truth afford, And find it words again. Till Spring, in after years of youth, Wove its dear form with every form; Now a glad bursting into Truth, Now a low sighing storm. But in this vision of the Past, Spring-world to summer leading in, Whose joys but not whose sorrows last, I have left out the sin. I picture but development, Green leaves unfolding to their fruits, Expanding flowers, aspiring scent, But not the writhing roots. Then follow English sunsets, o'er A warm rich land outspread below; A green sea from a level shore, Bright boats that come and go. And one beside me in whose eyes Old Nature found a welcome home, A treasury of changeful skies Beneath a changeless dome. But will it still be thus, O God? And shall I always wish to see And trace again the hilly road By which I went to Thee? We bend above a joy new given, That gives new feelings gladsome birth; A living gift from one in heaven To two upon the earth. Are no days creeping softly on Which I should tremble to renew? I thank thee, Lord, for what is gone-- Thine is the future too. And are we not at home in Thee, And all this world a visioned show; That knowing what _Abroad_ is, we What _Home_ is, too, may know? FAR AND NEAR. [The fact to which the following verses refer, is related by Dr. Edward Clarke in his Travels.] Blue sunny skies above; below, A blue and sunny sea; A world of blue, wherein did blow One soft wind steadily. In great and solemn heaves, the mass Of pulsing ocean beat, Unwrinkled as the sea of glass Beneath the holy feet. With forward leaning of desire, The ship sped calmly on, A pilgrim strong that would not tire, Nor hasten to be gone. The mouth of the mysterious Nile, Full thirty leagues away, Breathed in his ear old tales to wile Old Ocean as he lay. Low on the surface of the sea Faint sounds like whispers glide Of lovers talking tremulously, Close by the vessel's side. Or as within a sleeping wood A windy sigh awoke, And fluttering all the leafy brood, The summer-silence broke. A wayward phantasy might say That little ocean-maids Were clapping little hands of play, Deep down in ocean-glades. The traveller by land and flood, The man of ready mind, Much questioning the reason, stood-- No answer could he find. That day, on Egypt's distant land, And far from off the shore, Two nations fought with armed hand, With bellowing cannon's roar. That fluttering whisper, low and near, Was the far battle-blare; An airy rippling motion here, The blasting thunder there. And so this aching in my breast, Dim, faint, and undefined, May be the sound of far unrest, Borne on the spirit's wind; The uproar of the battle fought Betwixt the bond and free; The thundering roll in whispers brought From Heaven's artillery. MY ROOM. To G.E.M.