Grief hath a shadow, shame; And manhood, meanly tost In woes without a name And sorrows that are lost, Look’d at, when in the streets True sorrow, seal’d with sores And wrap’d in rags, entreats A charity from ours, Manhood can best control; But this dark exile hath Worse wounds, and of the soul— A misery and a wrath. * * * * * EXILE I Happy the man who ploughs All day his native croft; He looks to heaven and knows, Smiling, the lark aloft. Happy the man whose toil Leads on laborious hills; The rock beneath the soil The measure of his ills. Happiest, who can go forth Thro’ every age and clime, His home the whole of earth, His heritage all time. In vasty Wilds and with No crimson petals pranckt The shallow briars breathe And bloom and die unthankt. And we the useless Briar, And round us Desert spread The red Sun rolls his fire And smites the Desert dead; Death, Silence, and the Star With scornful nostrils curl’d; And half-forgotten, far, The movements of the world. II One hour released I rusht About the world again; The living thousands crusht; The streets were full of rain; I felt the north wind sting And glory’d in the sleet; I heard my footsteps ring Along the frosty street; And saw—less seen than felt— Swift-flashing Italy, And that bright city built Upon the mirroring Sea. III My country, my England, home, Are thy flowers bright, thy bells Ringing the spring welcome, The winter long farewells? Are thy fields fair—each flower Fill’d with the heav’nly dew, My country, at this hour When I am thinking of you? Art thou so far, so fair? Across what leagues of foam, My country? Art thou still there, My England, my country, my home? IV This hateful desert land Is pent by a great sea That booms upon the strand For ever. Salt the sea And salt the shore; the thorn And cactus stand and gaze Upon these waves; new-born The young grass ends her days; Straightly the beach is lined. I wander to the shore. The sunset dies behind, The full moon springs before. Of these great Deeps that link The land I love with this, I wander to the brink, I watch the waters kiss This lonely shore. O Waves, O Winds and Waters, where My country? Sing, O Waves, And tell me of it here. O Night? O Moon that comest, A sad face fronting mine? O dusking Deep that boomest, What tidings of it thine? V