I write my rhymes and sing away, And dawn may come or dusk or day: Tho' fare be poor, my heart is gay. And full of glee. Though chimney-pots be all my views; 'T is nearer for the winging Muse, So I am sure she 'll not refuse To visit me. TO E. H. K. ON THE RECEIPT OF A FAMILIAR POEM To me, like hauntings of a vagrant breath From some far forest which I once have known, The perfume of this flower of verse is blown. Tho' seemingly soul-blossoms faint to death, Naught that with joy she bears e'er withereth. So, tho' the pregnant years have come and flown, Lives come and gone and altered like mine own, This poem comes to me a shibboleth: Brings sound of past communings to my ear, Turns round the tide of time and bears me back Along an old and long untraversed way; Makes me forget this is a later year, Makes me tread o'er a reminiscent track, Half sad, half glad, to one forgotten day! A BRIDAL MEASURE Come, essay a sprightly measure, Tuned to some light song of pleasure. Maidens, let your brows be crowned As we foot this merry round. From the ground a voice is singing, From the sod a soul is springing. Who shall say 't is but a clod Quick'ning upward toward its God? Who shall say it? Who may know it, That the clod is not a poet Waiting but a gleam to waken In a spirit music-shaken? Phyllis, Phyllis, why be waiting? In the woods the birds are mating. From the tree beside the wall, Hear the am'rous robin call. Listen to yon thrush's trilling; Phyllis, Phyllis, are you willing, When love speaks from cave and tree, Only we should silent be? When the year, itself renewing, All the world with flowers is strewing, Then through Youth's Arcadian land, Love and song go hand in hand. Come, unfold your vocal treasure, Sing with me a nuptial measure,-- Let this springtime gambol be Bridal dance for you and me. VENGEANCE IS SWEET When I was young I longed for Love, And held his glory far above All other earthly things. I cried: "Come, Love, dear Love, with me abide;" And with my subtlest art I wooed, And eagerly the wight pursued. But Love was gay and Love was shy, He laughed at me and passed me by. Well, I grew old and I grew gray, When Wealth came wending down my way. I took his golden hand with glee, And comrades from that day were we. Then Love came back with doleful face, And prayed that I would give him place. But, though his eyes with tears were dim, I turned my back and laughed at him. A HYMN AFTER READING "LEAD, KINDLY LIGHT." Lead gently, Lord, and slow, For oh, my steps are weak, And ever as I go, Some soothing sentence speak; That I may turn my face Through doubt's obscurity Toward thine abiding-place, E'en tho' I cannot see.