The Caspian has its realms of sand, Its other realm of sea; Without the sterile perquisite No Caspian could be. IX. Poor little heart! Did they forget thee? Then dinna care! Then dinna care! Proud little heart! Did they forsake thee? Be debonair! Be debonair! Frail little heart! I would not break thee: Could'st credit me? Could'st credit me? Gay little heart! Like morning glory Thou'll wilted be; thou'll wilted be! X. FORGOTTEN. There is a word Which bears a sword Can pierce an armed man. It hurls its barbed syllables,-- At once is mute again. But where it fell The saved will tell On patriotic day, Some epauletted brother Gave his breath away. Wherever runs the breathless sun, Wherever roams the day, There is its noiseless onset, There is its victory! Behold the keenest marksman! The most accomplished shot! Time's sublimest target Is a soul 'forgot'! XI. I've got an arrow here; Loving the hand that sent it, I the dart revere. Fell, they will say, in 'skirmish'! Vanquished, my soul will know, By but a simple arrow Sped by an archer's bow. XII. THE MASTER. He fumbles at your spirit As players at the keys Before they drop full music on; He stuns you by degrees, Prepares your brittle substance For the ethereal blow, By fainter hammers, further heard, Then nearer, then so slow Your breath has time to straighten, Your brain to bubble cool, -- Deals one imperial thunderbolt That scalps your naked soul. XIII. Heart, we will forget him! You and I, to-night! You may forget the warmth he gave, I will forget the light. When you have done, pray tell me, That I my thoughts may dim; Haste! lest while you're lagging, I may remember him! XIV. Father, I bring thee not myself, -- That were the little load; I bring thee the imperial heart I had not strength to hold. The heart I cherished in my own Till mine too heavy grew, Yet strangest, heavier since it went, Is it too large for you? XV. We outgrow love like other things And put it in the drawer, Till it an antique fashion shows Like costumes grandsires wore. XVI. Not with a club the heart is broken, Nor with a stone; A whip, so small you could not see it. I've known To lash the magic creature Till it fell, Yet that whip's name too noble Then to tell. Magnanimous of bird By boy descried, To sing unto the stone Of which it died. XVII. WHO? My friend must be a bird, Because it flies! Mortal my friend must be, Because it dies! Barbs has it, like a bee. Ah, curious friend, Thou puzzlest me! XVIII. He touched me, so I live to know That such a day, permitted so, I groped upon his breast. It was a boundless place to me, And silenced, as the awful sea Puts minor streams to rest.