This is the voice of Time against the Hours; This is the witness of the Cosmic Powers; This is the Music of the Ages—this The song whose first note broke the First Abyss. All that we glory in was once a dream; The World-Will marches onward, gleam by gleam. New voices speak, dead paths begin to stir: Man is emerging from the sepulchre! Let no man dare, let no man ever dare To mark on Time’s great way, “No Thoroughfare!” To Young America In spite of the stare of the wise and the world’s derision, Dare travel the star-blazed road, dare follow the Vision. It breaks as a hush on the soul in the wonder of youth; And the lyrical dream of the boy is the kingly truth. The world is a vapor, and only the Vision is real— Yea, nothing can hold against Hell but the Wingèd Ideal. The Brown o’ the Year What would you speak with that visage old, O cliff by the windy shore? What passion that never a song could hold— What word of the Nevermore? What would you tell with that silent look, O bleak, bare oak by the way? Earth’s grief is all in that bough that shook, That leaf that could not stay. Wind of the Fall I hear that wail in the windy pine And I suddenly know: It wakes in my heart a dream divine And a sacred woe. I heard that cry from your spirit then, O wind of the Fall! I, too, have carried the grief of men; I have felt it all. The Free Press