Of pranked woodpeckers that ne'er gossip out, But alway tap at doors and gad about -- Robins and mocking-birds that all day long Athwart straight sunshine weave cross-threads of song, Shuttles of music -- clouds of mosses gray That rain me rains of pleasant thoughts alway From a low sky of leaves -- faint yearning psalms Of endless metre breathing through the palms That crowd and lean and gaze from off the shore Ever for one that cometh nevermore -- Palmettos ranked, with childish spear-points set Against no enemy -- rich cones that fret High roofs of temples shafted tall with pines -- Green, grateful mangroves where the sand-beach shines -- Long lissome coast that in and outward swerves, The grace of God made manifest in curves -- All riches, goods and braveries never told Of earth, sun, air and heaven -- now I hold Your being in my being; I am ye, And ye myself; yea, lastly, Thee, God, whom my roads all reach, howe'er they run, My Father, Friend, Beloved, dear All-One, Thee in my soul, my soul in Thee, I feel, Self of my self. Lo, through my sense doth steal Clear cognizance of all selves and qualities, Of all existence that hath been or is, Of all strange haps that men miscall of chance, And all the works of tireless circumstance: Each borders each, like mutual sea and shore, Nor aught misfits his neighbor that's before, Nor him that's after -- nay, through this still air, Out of the North come quarrels, and keen blare Of challenge by the hot-breath'd parties blown; Yet break they not this peace with alien tone, Fray not my heart, nor fright me for my land, -- I hear from all-wards, allwise understand, The great bird Purpose bears me twixt her wings, And I am one with all the kinsmen things That e'er my Father fathered. Oh, to me All questions solve in this tranquillity: E'en this dark matter, once so dim, so drear, Now shines upon my spirit heavenly-clear: Thou, Father, without logic, tellest me How this divine denial true may be, -- How `All's in each, yet every one of all Maintains his Self complete and several.' ____ Tampa, Florida, 1877. To My Class: On Certain Fruits and Flowers Sent Me in Sickness. If spicy-fringed pinks that blush and pale With passions of perfume, -- if violets blue That hint of heaven with odor more than hue, -- If perfect roses, each a holy Grail Wherefrom the blood of beauty doth exhale Grave raptures round, -- if leaves of green as new As those fresh chaplets wove in dawn and dew By Emily when down the Athenian vale She paced, to do observance to the May, Nor dreamed of Arcite nor of Palamon, -- If fruits that riped in some more riotous play Of wind and beam that stirs our temperate sun, -- If these the products be of love and pain, Oft may I suffer, and you love, again. ____ Baltimore, Christmas, 1880. On Violet's Wafers, Sent Me When I Was Ill.