Oh! say you, friend, the creed is fraught With sad, and even with painful thought, Nor could you bear to know That such capacities belong To creatures helpless against wrong, At once too weak to fly the strong Or front the feeblest foe? So be it always, then, with you; So be it--whether false or true-- I press my faith on none; If other fancies please you more, The flowers shall blossom as before, Dear as the Sibyl-leaves of yore, But senseless, every one. Yet, though I give you no reply, It were not hard to justify My creed to partial ears; But, conscious of the cruel part, My rhymes would flow with faltering art, I could not plead against your heart, Nor reason with your tears. A Summer Shower Welcome, rain or tempest From yon airy powers, We have languished for them Many sultry hours, And earth is sick and wan, and pines with all her flowers. What have they been doing In the burning June? Riding with the genii? Visiting the moon? Or sleeping on the ice amid an arctic noon? Bring they with them jewels From the sunset lands? What are these they scatter With such lavish hands? There are no brighter gems in Raolconda's sands. Pattering on the gravel, Dropping from the eaves, Glancing in the grass, and Tinkling on the leaves, They flash the liquid pearls as flung from fairy sieves. Meanwhile, unreluctant, Earth like Danaë lies; Listen! is it fancy, That beneath us sighs, As that warm lap receives the largesse of the skies? Jove, it is, descendeth In those crystal rills; And this world-wide tremor Is a pulse that thrills To a god's life infused through veins of velvet hills. Wait, thou jealous sunshine, Break not on their bliss; Earth will blush in roses Many a day for this, And bend a brighter brow beneath thy burning kiss. Baby's Age