In awe, not pride, doth Fancy wield The sceptre of her gorgeous realm, Whose revelations overwhelm With sense of greatness unrevealed. Thus, whatsoever good is gained In fantasies of fresh delights, But wings us to diviner flights Unto the ever unattained. Nor need I more than this to show All proof of that astounding bliss, Which from the world of worlds to this, Through lowliest mind, sends conscious glow. Not clearer through the density Of darkling woods, do I behold The intervening flecks of gold Reveal unseen intensity. In this deep truth I hold the key That locks me from a world of pain, And opens unto boundless gain Of sweet ideal mystery. And though I may not hope to climb Above the level commonplace, Or touch that vital growth of grace Which shapes the fruit of deathless rhyme, Yet, will I bless the Gracious Power Which giveth strength to walk the mead, And catch the sometime wafted seed That ripens to the quiet flower. Or, when, foot-weary with the day, My longing spirit only feels The tremor of the distant wheels That bear some poet on his way; I'll deem it very kindly chance That gives the apprehension clear To feel the pageant, far or near, That moves to other's utterance. And if I can but feebly keep With reverent grace my share of good, And kneeling, gather daily food By gleaning, where my betters reap, Yet will I bless the Hand Divine That with the appetite for least, Transforms into perpetual feast The homely bread, the household wine; And place it foremost of my joys,-- Not ranking those that from above Assume on earth the name of Love,-- That feast, which never ends or cloys. THE ASH TREE. 'The Ash for nothing ill.'--SPENSER. 'The Ash asks not a depth of fruitful mould But, like frugality, on little means It thrives; and high o'er creviced ruins spreads Its ample shade, or on the naked rock, That nods in air, with graceful limbs depends.'--BIDLAKE'S _Year_. 'Nature seems t' ordain The rocky cliff for the wild Ash's reign.'--DRYDEN'S VIRGIL.