O ye whose living is not _Life_, Whose dying is but death, Song, empty toil and petty strife, Rounded with loss of breath! Go, look on Nature's countenance, Drink in the blessing of her glance; Look on the sunset, hear the wind, The cataract, the awful thunder; Go, worship by the sea; Then, and then only, shall ye find, With ever-growing wonder, Man is not all in all to ye; Go with a meek and humble soul, Then shall the scales of self unroll From off your eyes--the weary packs Drop from your heavy-laden backs; And ye shall see, With reverent and hopeful eyes, Glowing with new-born energies, How great a thing it is to |be|! FORGETFULNESS. There's a haven of sure rest From the loud world's bewildering stress As a bird dreaming on her nest, As dew hid in a rose's breast, As Hesper in the glowing West; So the heart sleeps In thy calm deeps, Serene Forgetfulness! No sorrow in that place may be, The noise of life grows less and less: As moss far down within the sea, As, in white lily caves, a bee, As life in a hazy reverie; So the heart's wave In thy dim cave, Hushes, Forgetfulness! Duty and care fade far away What toil may be we cannot guess: As a ship anchored in the bay, As a cloud at summer-noon astray, As water-blooms in a breezeless day; So,'neath thine eyes, The full heart lies, And dreams, Forgetfulness! SONG. I. What reck I of the stars, when I May gaze into thine eyes, O'er which the brown hair flowingly Is parted maidenwise From thy pale forehead, calm and bright, Over thy cheeks so rosy white? II. What care I for the red moon-rise? Far liefer would I sit And watch the joy within thine eyes Gush up at sight of it; Thyself my queenly moon shall be, Ruling my heart's deep tides for me! III. What heed I if the sky be blue? So are thy holy eyes, And bright with shadows ever new Of changeful sympathies, Which in thy soul's unruffled deep Rest evermore, but never sleep. THE POET.