The sun rose smiling o’er the river’s breast, And my soul, by his happy spirit blest, Soared like a bird to greet him in the sky, And drew out of his heart Eternity. AFRICA The sun sought thy dim bed and brought forth light, The sciences were sucklings at thy breast; When all the world was young in pregnant night Thy slaves toiled at thy monumental best. Thou ancient treasure-land, thou modern prize, New peoples marvel at thy pyramids! The years roll on, thy sphinx of riddle eyes Watches the mad world with immobile lids. The Hebrews humbled them at Pharaoh’s name. Cradle of Power! Yet all things were in vain! Honor and Glory, Arrogance and Fame! They went. The darkness swallowed thee again. Thou art the harlot, now thy time is done, Of all the mighty nations of the sun. ON A PRIMITIVE CANOE Here, passing lonely down this quiet lane, Before a mud-splashed window long I pause To gaze and gaze, while through my active brain Still thoughts are stirred to wakefulness; because Long, long ago in a dim unknown land, A massive forest-tree, ax-felled, adze-hewn, Was deftly done by cunning mortal hand Into a symbol of the tender moon. Why does it thrill more than the handsome boat That bore me o’er the wild Atlantic ways, And fill me with rare sense of things remote From this harsh life of fretful nights and days? I cannot answer but, whate’er it be, An old wine has intoxicated me. WINTER IN THE COUNTRY Sweet life! how lovely to be here And feel the soft sea-laden breeze Strike my flushed face, the spruce’s fair Free limbs to see, the lesser trees’ Bare hands to touch, the sparrow’s cheep To heed, and watch his nimble flight Above the short brown grass asleep. Love glorious in his friendly might, Music that every heart could bless, And thoughts of life serene, divine, Beyond my power to express, Crowd round this lifted heart of mine! But oh! to leave this paradise For the city’s dirty basement room, Where, beauty hidden from the eyes, A table, bed, bureau and broom In corner set, two crippled chairs All covered up with dust and grim With hideousness and scars of years, And gaslight burning weird and dim, Will welcome me.... And yet, and yet This very wind, the winter birds, The glory of the soft sunset, Come there to me in words. TO WINTER