Blest birds! A book held open on the knee Below, is all they know of Adam’s blight: With surer art the while, and simpler rite, They follow Truth in some monastic tree, Where breathe against their innocent breasts by night The scholar’s star, the star of sanctity. [Illustration] _Open, Time_ OPEN, Time, and let him pass Shortly where his feet would be! Like a leaf at Michaelmas Swooning from the tree, Ere its hour the manly mind Trembles in a sure decrease, Nor the body now can find Any hold on peace. Take him, weak and overworn; Fold about his dying dream Boyhood, and the April morn, And the rolling stream: Weather on a sunny ridge, Showery weather, far from here; Under some deep-ivied bridge, Water rushing clear: Water quick to cross and part, (Golden light on silver sound), Weather that was next his heart All the world around! Soon upon his vision break These, in their remembered blue; He shall toil no more, but wake Young, in air he knew. He has done with roofs and men. Open, Time, and let him pass, Vague and innocent again, Into country grass. [Illustration] _The Knight Errant (Donatello’s Saint George)_ SPIRITS of old that bore me, And set me, meek of mind, Between great dreams before me, And deeds as great behind, Knowing humanity my star As first abroad I ride, Shall help me wear, with every scar, Honor at eventide. Let claws of lightning clutch me From summer’s groaning cloud, Or ever malice touch me, And glory make me proud. O give my youth, my faith, my sword, Choice of the heart’s desire: A short life in the saddle, Lord! Not long life by the fire. Forethought and recollection Rivet mine armor gay! The passion for perfection Redeem my failing way! The arrows of the tragic time From sudden ambush cast, With calm angelic touches ope My Paradise at last! I fear no breathing bowman, But only, east and west, The awful other foeman Impowered in my breast. The outer fray in the sun shall be, The inner beneath the moon; And may Our Lady lend to me Sight of the Dragon soon! [Illustration] _To a Dog’s Memory_ THE gusty morns are here, When all the reeds ride low with level spear; And on such nights as lured us far of yore, Down rocky alleys yet, and thro’ the pine, The Hound-star and the pagan Hunter shine: But I and thou, ah, field-fellow of mine, Together roam no more. Soft showers go laden now With odors of the sappy orchard-bough, And brooks begin to brawl along the march; The late frost steams from hollow sedges high; The finch is come, the flame-blue dragon-fly, The cowslip’s common gold that children spy, The plume upon the larch.