Oh, the whirl of the fields in the windy weather! How the barley breaks and blows together! Oh, glad is the free bird afloat on the heather-- Oh, the whole world is glad of the wind! The New-Comers Two swallows--each preening a long glossy feather; Now they gossip and dart through the silvery weather; Oh, praise to the Highest--two lovers together-- Free, free in the fathomless world of air. No fate to oppose and no fortune to sunder; Blue sky overhead--green sky breaking under; And their home on the cliff in the midst of the wonder, Hung high beyond fear on the gray granite stair. Music It is the last appeal to man-- Voice crying since the world began; The cry of the Ideal--cry To aspirations that would die. The last appeal! in it is heard The pathos of the final word. Voice tender and heroical-- Imperious voice that knoweth well To wreck the reasonings of years, To strengthen rebel hearts with tears. Fay Song My life is a dream--a dream In the moon’s cool beam; Some day I shall wake and desire A touch of the infinite fire. But now ’tis enough that I be In the light of the sea; Enough that I climb with the cloud When the winds of the morning are loud; Enough that I fade with the stars When the door of the East unbars. The Old Earth How will it be if there we find no traces-- There in the Golden Heaven--if we find No memories of the old Earth left behind, No visions of familiar forms and faces-- Reminders of old voices and old places? Yet could we bear it if it should remind? Divine Adventure At times a youth (so whispered legend tells), Like Hylas, stoops to drink By forest-hidden brink, And fair hands draw him down to darkened wells; Fair hands that hold him fast With laughter at the last Have power to draw him lightly down to be In elfin chambers under the gray sea. And I, O men of Earth, I too, When dawn was at the dew, Was drawn as Hylas downward and beheld Spirits of youth and eld-- Was swung down endless caverns to the deep, Saw fervid jewels sparkle in their sleep, Saw glad gnomes working in the dusty light, Saw great rocks crouching in the primal night. I was drawn down, and after many days Returned with stiller feet to walk the upper ways. Song Made Flesh I have no glory in these songs of mine: If one of them can make a brother strong, It came down from the peaks of the divine-- I heard it in the Heaven of Lyric Song. The one who builds the poem into fact, He is the rightful owner of it all: The pale words are with God’s own power packed When brave souls answer to their buglecall.