What has a man that a child has too, When “of such is the kingdom” on high? He knows that life is better’d by rules, But he knows how split the wise and the fools When judging of rules they apply. He feels that life worth living proceeds From nature that prompts the bent of deeds; And he lets the reins of his being go, Whenever the soul moves upward so. If he look to God through self or His Book, Or leading the way through a bishop’s crook, He welcomes whatever has worth in the new, Though it grew outside of his Timbuctoo. For modest he is, and loves to find Earth blest by minds that differ in kind. In short, to the simple, the frail, and the few He is fill’d with charity through and through; And, waiving your reason its right of control, Trusts God for enough truth left in your soul; And though he may tell you he doubts your way, He has much to love in spite of his “nay”; And that may a man and a child have too. MY LOVE IS SAD. My love is “fill’d with gloom,” you say; Yet think! when I had spied her, The flowers that made her bower so gay Had lost their light beside her. Ah, could my darling see it so, And gloomy seem? No, no; no, no. My love is weary, wandering; Yet I, who sped to find her With worlds of fancies on the wing, Saw all fall far behind her. Ah, could my darling see it so, And weary seem? No, no; no, no. My love is lone and weeps, I see; Yet here I wait to win her, For what is all the world to me, My arms are clasping in her. Ah, could my darling see it so, And lonely seem? No, no; no, no. MY DREAM AT CORDOVA. I. Night bade me rest. I left the street, Its faces fair and banter sweet; And oh, how human seem’d the town Beside which I had laid me down! But, ere I slept, the rising moon, From skies as blue as if ’twere noon, Pour’d forth her light in silvery streams, Eclipsing all my light of dreams. And soon, as if some power would shake My drowsy eyes, and make them wake, The walls were spray’d with showers of light, Whose flickerings left a fountain bright That toss’d the moonbeams in its play, And dash’d and flash’d their gleams away. I just could see the fountain flow Within a marble court[1] below. It seem’d a spirit, clothed in white, But half reveal’d to mortal sight, Whose glancing robes would lift and glide O’er dainty limbs that danced inside, And touched the ground with throbbing sweet As if the tread of fairy feet; While round about the fount-sent shower, That strung with pearls each grateful flower, Rare fragrance rose from bush and bower. II.