When I hear music, whether waltz or psalm, Among a crowd, I find myself alone; It does not touch me with a soothing balm, But brings an echo like a moan From some far country where a palace rose, In which I reigned with Cleopatra's pride: "Come, Charmian! bring the asp for my repose." And queenly, men shall say, she died. There lived and ruled a happy, noble race, Primeval souls who held imperial power-- My kindred, gone forever from their place, And I am here without a dower! They were a Vision, though. And are these real, These men and women, moving as in sleep, Who, smiling, gesture to the same Ideal, For which the music makes me weep? Have they my longings for that other world New to them yet? I grant that Music's swell Is like the sea; they may be thither hurled By storms that thunder and compel; Or, like those voyagers in the land of streams, Glide through its languid air, its languid wave, To learn that _Here_ and _There_ are but two dreams, That end in Nothing and the Grave! "I LIVE WITHIN THE STRANGER'S GATE." I. I live within the stranger's gate, And count the hours Since God let fall the bolt of fate! Where the waves fall on yonder shore In cloudy spray, And where the winds forever roar, The pillars of a mansion stand, Without a roof; The saddest ruin in the land! II. When sunset strikes across the sea The wreck looms up; Then Memory comes, and touches me. I see a pitiful white face Break through the mould Decaying at the pillar's base, And hands that beckon me to prayer. But I still curse, And wake the Furies slumbering there! III. In the strange drama of the Past It was my part To hold carousal to the last; It was for me to hide the shame, And brave the world With lies about our ancient name! I played it well, and played it long: But let it pass, The world has never known the 'wrong. IV. Upheave, black mould, and totter all The ruin down! Fall, monumental pillars, fall, Upon her grave! Above her breast May ivy creep, And roses blow! I choose to rest. THE HOUSE OF YOUTH. The rough north winds have left their icy caves To growl and grope for prey Upon the murky sea; The lonely sea-gull skims the sullen waves All the gray winter day. The mottled sand-bird runneth up and down, Amongst the creaking sedge, Along the crusted beach; The time-stained houses of the sea-walled town Seem tottering on its edge. An ancient dwelling, in this ancient place, Stands in a garden drear, A wreck with other wrecks; The Past is there, but no one sees a face Within, from year to year. The wiry rose-trees scratch the window-pane; The window rattles loud; The wind beats at the door, But never gets an answer back again, The silence is so proud.