Thee, absent loved one, did I think on now, Wondering if thy deep brow In dreams of me were lifted to the skies, Where, by our far sea-home, the sunlight dies; If thou didst stand alone, Watching the day pass slowly, slow, as here, But closer and more dear, Beyond the meadow and the long, familiar line Of blackening pine; When lo! that second smile;――dear heart, it was thine own. ¹ Copyright, The Century Co. * * * * * “O SILVER RIVER FLOWING TO THE SEA.”¹ _From “Five Books of Song” (1894)._ O SILVER river flowing to the sea, Strong, calm, and solemn as thy mountains be! Poets have sung thy ever-living power, Thy wintry day, and summer sunset hour; Have told how rich thou art, how broad, how deep, What commerce thine, how many myriads reap The harvest of thy waters. They have sung Thy moony nights, when every shadow flung From cliff or pine is peopled with dim ghosts Of settlers, old-world fairies, or the hosts Of savage warriors that once plowed thy waves―― Now hurrying to the dance from hidden graves; The waving outline of thy wooded mountains, Thy populous towns that stretch from forest fountains On either side, far to the salty main, Like golden coins alternate on a chain. Thou pathway of the empire of the North, Thy praises through the earth have traveled forth! I hear thee praised as one who hears the shout That follows when a hero from the rout Of battle issues, “Lo, how brave is he, How noble, proud, and beautiful!” But she Who knows him best――“How tender!” So thou art The river of love to me! ――Heart of my heart, Dear love and bride――is it not so indeed?―― Among your treasures keep this new-plucked reed. ¹ Copyright, The Century Co. * * * * * “THERE IS NOTHING NEW UNDER THE SUN.”¹ _From “Five Books of Song” (1894)._ THERE is nothing new under the sun; There is no new hope or despair; The agony just begun Is as old as the earth and the air. My secret soul of bliss Is one with the singing stars, And the ancient mountains miss No hurt that my being mars. I know as I know my life, I know as I know my pain, That there is no lonely strife, That he is mad who would gain A separate balm for his woe, A single pity and cover; The one great God I know Hears the same prayer over and over. I know it because at the portal Of Heaven I bowed and cried, And I said: “Was ever a mortal Thus crowned and crucified! My praise thou hast made my blame; My best thou hast made my worst; My good thou hast turned to shame; My drink is a flaming thirst.”