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Day by day returns
The everlasting sun,
Replenishing material urns
With God's unspared donation;
But the day of day,
The orb within the mind,
Creating fair and good alway,
Shines not as once it shined.
* * *
Vast the realm of Being is,
In the waste one nook is his;
Whatsoever hap befalls
In his vision's narrow walls
He is here to testify.
1831.
There is in all the sons of men
A love that in the spirit dwells,
That panteth after things unseen,
And tidings of the future tells.
And God hath built his altar here
To keep this fire of faith alive,
And sent his priests in holy fear
To speak the truth—for truth to strive.
And hither come the pensive train
Of rich and poor, of young and old,
Of ardent youth untouched by pain,
Of thoughtful maids and manhood bold.
They seek a friend to speak the word
Already trembling on their tongue,
To touch with prophet's hand the chord
Which God in human hearts hath strung.
To speak the plain reproof of sin
That sounded in the soul before,
And bid you let the angels in
That knock at meek contrition's door.
A friend to lift the curtain up
That hides from man the mortal goal,
And with glad thoughts of faith and hope
Surprise the exulting soul.
Sole source of light and hope assured,
O touch thy servant's lips with power,
So shall he speak to us the word
Thyself dost give forever more.
June, 1831.
Henceforth, please God, forever I forego
The yoke of men's opinions. I will be
Light-hearted as a bird, and live with God.
I find him in the bottom of my heart,
I hear continually his voice therein.
* * *
The little needle always knows the North,
The little bird remembereth his note,
And this wise Seer within me never errs.
I never taught it what it teaches me;
I only follow, when I act aright.
October 9, 1832.
And when I am entombed in my place,
Be it remembered of a single man,
He never, though he dearly loved his race,
For fear of human eyes swerved from his plan.
Oh what is Heaven but the fellowship
Of minds that each can stand against the world
By its own meek and incorruptible will?
The days pass over me
And I am still the same;
The aroma of my life is gone
With the flower with which it came.
1833.
We are what we are made; each following day
Is the Creator of our human mould
Not less than was the first; the all-wise God
Gilds a few points in every several life,
And as each flower upon the fresh hillside,
And every colored petal of each flower,
Is sketched and dyed, each with a new design,
Its spot of purple, and its streak of brown,
So each man's life shall have its proper lights,
And a few joys, a few peculiar charms,
For him round in the melancholy hours
And reconcile him to the common days.
Not many men see beauty in the fogs
Of close low pine-woods in a river town;
Yet unto me not morn's magnificence,
Nor the red rainbow of a summer eve,
Nor Rome, nor joyful Paris, nor the halls
Of rich men blazing hospitable light,
Nor wit, nor eloquence,—no, nor even the song
Of any woman that is now alive,—
Hath such a soul, such divine influence,
Such resurrection of the happy past,
As is to me when I behold the morn
Ope in such law moist roadside, and beneath
Peep the blue violets out of the black loam,
Pathetic silent poets that sing to me
Thine elegy, sweet singer, sainted wife.
March, 1833.
Alone in Rome. Why, Rome is lonely too;—
Besides, you need not be alone; the soul
Shall have society of its own rank.
Be great, be true, and all the Scipios,
The Catos, the wise patriots of Rome,
Shall flock to you and tarry by your side,
And comfort you with their high company.
Virtue alone is sweet society,
It keeps the key to all heroic hearts,
And opens you a welcome in them all.
You must be like them if you desire them,
Scorn trifles and embrace a better aim
Than wine or sleep or praise;
Hunt knowledge as the lover wooes a maid,
And ever in the strife of your own thoughts
Obey the nobler impulse; that is Rome:
That shall command a senate to your side;
For there is no might in the universe
That can contend with love. It reigns forever.
Wait then, sad friend, wait in majestic peace
The hour of heaven. Generously trust
Thy fortune's web to the beneficent hand
That until now has put his world in fee
To thee. He watches for thee still. His love
Broods over thee, and as God lives in heaven,
However long thou walkest solitary,
The hour of heaven shall come, the man appear.
1833.
1831
Let Webster's lofty face
Ever on thousands shine,
A beacon set that Freedom's race
Might gather omens from that radiant sign.
1834
Ill fits the abstemious Muse a crown to weave
For living brows; ill fits them to receive:
And yet, if virtue abrogate the law,
One portrait—fact or fancy—we may draw;
A form which Nature cast in the heroic mould
Of them who rescued liberty of old;
He, when the rising storm of party roared,
Brought his great forehead to the council board,
There, while hot heads perplexed with fears the state,
Calm as the morn the manly patriot sate;
Seemed, when at last his clarion accents broke,
As if the conscience of the country spoke.
Not on its base Monadnoc surer stood,
Than he to common sense and common good:
No mimic; from his breast his counsel drew,
Believed the eloquent was aye the true;
He bridged the gulf from th' alway good and wise
To that within the vision of small eyes.
Self-centred; when he launched the genuine word
It shook or captivated all who heard,
Ran from his mouth to mountains and the sea,
And burned in noble hearts proverb and prophecy.
1854
Why did all manly gifts in Webster fail?
He wrote on Nature's grandest brow, For Sale.
A dull uncertain brain
"A new commandment," said the smiling Muse
A patch of meadow upland
A queen rejoices in her peers
A ruddy drop of manly blood
A score of airy miles will smooth
A sterner errand to the silken troop
A subtle chain of countless rings
A train of gay and clouded days
Ah Fate, cannot a man
Ah, not to me those dreams belong!
All day the waves assailed the rock
Alone in Rome. Why, Rome is lonely too
Already blushes on thy cheek
And as the light divides the dark
And Ellen, when the graybeard years
And I behold once more
And when I am entombed in my place
Announced by all the trumpets of the sky
Around the man who seeks a noble end
Ascending thorough just degrees
Askest, 'How long thou shalt stay?'
As sings the pine-tree in the wind
As sunbeams stream through liberal space
As the drop feeds its fated flower
Atom from atom yawns as far
Be of good cheer, brave spirit; steadfastly
Because I was content with these poor fields
Bethink, poor heart, what bitter kind of jest
Blooms the laurel which belongs
Boon Nature yields each day a brag which we now first behold
Bring me wine, but wine which never grew
Bulkeley, Hunt, Willard, Hosmer, Meriam, Flint
Burly, dozing humble-bee
But God said
But if thou do thy best
But Nature whistled with all her winds
But never yet the man was found
But over all his crowning grace
By fate, not option, frugal Nature gave
By the rude bridge that arched the flood
By thoughts I lead
Can rules or tutors educate
Cast the bantling on the rocks
Coin the day dawn into lines
Dark flower of Cheshire garden
Darlings of children and of bard
Daughter of Heaven and Earth, coy Spring
Daughters of Time, the hypocritic Days
Day by day for her darlings to her much she added more
Day by day returns
Day! hast thou two faces
Dear brother, would you know the life
Dearest, where thy shadow falls
Deep in the man sits fast his fate
Each spot where tulips prank their state
Each the herald is who wrote
Easy to match what others do
Ere he was born, the stars of fate
Ever the Poet from the land
Ever the Rock of Ages melts
Every day brings a ship
Every thought is public
Fall, stream, from Heaven to bless; return as well
Farewell, ye lofty spires
Flow, flow the waves hated
For art, for music over-thrilled
For every God
For Fancy's gift
For Genius made his cabin wide
For joy and beauty planted it
For Nature, true and like in every place
For thought, and not praise
For what need I of book or priest
Forbore the ant-hill, shunned to tread
Freedom all winged expands
Friends to me are frozen wine
From fall to spring, the russet acorn
From high to higher forces
From the stores of eldest matter
From thy worth and weight the stars gravitate
Gifts of one who loved me
Give all to love
Give me truths
Give to barrows, trays and pans
Go if thou wilt, ambrosial flower
Go speed the stars of Thought
Go thou to thy learned task
Gold and iron are good
Good-bye, proud world! I'm going home
Grace, Beauty and Caprice
Gravely it broods apart on joy
Hark what, now loud, now low, the pining flute complains
Hast thou named all the birds without a gun?
Have ye seen the caterpillar
He could condense cerulean ether
He lives not who can refuse me
He planted where the deluge ploughed
He took the color of his vest
He who has a thousand friends has not a friend to spare
He who has no hands
Hear what British Merlin sung
Henceforth, please God, forever I forego
Her passions the shy violet
Her planted eye to-day controls
High was her heart, and yet was well inclined
Him strong Genius urged to roam
His instant thought a poet spoke
His tongue was framed to music
Hold of the Maker, not the Made
How much, preventing God, how much I owe
I, Alphonso, live and learn
I am not poor but I am proud
I am not wiser for my age
I am the Muse who sung alway
I bear in youth and sad infirmities
I cannot spare water or wine
I do not count the hours I spend
I framed his tongue to music
I grieve that better souls than mine
I have an arrow that will find its mark
I have no brothers and no peers
I have trod this path a hundred times
I heard or seemed to hear the chiding Sea
I hung my verses in the wind
I left my dreary page and sallied forth
I like a church; I like a cowl
I love thy music, mellow bell
I mourn upon this battle-field
I rake no coffined clay, nor publish wide
I reached the middle of the mount
I said to heaven that glowed above
I see all human wits
I serve you not, if you I follow
If bright the sun, he tarries
If curses be the wage of love
If I could put my woods in song
If my darling should depart
If the red slayer think he slays
Ill fits the abstemious Muse a crown to weave
Illusions like the tints of pearl
Illusion works impenetrable
In an age of fops and toys
In countless upward-striving waves
In Farsistan the violet spreads
In many forms we try
In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes
In my garden three ways meet
In the chamber, on the stairs
In the deep heart of man a poet dwells
In the suburb, in the town
In the turbulent beauty
In Walden wood the chickadee
It fell in the ancient periods
It is time to be old
Knows he who tills this lonely field
Let me go where'er I will
Let Webster's lofty face
Like vaulters in a circus round
Little thinks, in the field, yon red-cloaked clown
Long I followed happy guides
Love asks nought his brother cannot give
Love on his errand bound to go
Love scatters oil
Low and mournful be the strain
Man was made of social earth
Many things the garden shows
May be true what I had heard
Mine and yours
Mine are the night and morning
Mortal mixed of middle clay
Nature centres into balls
Never did sculptor's dream unfold
Night-dreams trace on Memory's wall
No fate, save by the victim's fault, is low
Not in their houses stand the stars
October woods wherein
O fair and stately maid, whose eyes
O pity that I pause!
O tenderly the haughty day
O well for the fortunate soul
O what are heroes, prophets, men
Of all wit's uses the main one
Of Merlin wise I learned a song
Oh what is Heaven but the fellowship
On a mound an Arab lay
On bravely through the sunshine and the showers
On prince or bride no diamond stone
On two days it steads not to run from thy grave
Once I wished I might rehearse
One musician is sure
Our eyeless bark sails free
Over his head were the maple buds
Pale genius roves alone
Parks and ponds are good by day
Philosophers are lined with eyes within
Power that by obedience grows
Put in, drive home the sightless wedges
Quit the hut, frequent the palace
Right upward on the road of fame
Roomy Eternity
Roving, roving, as it seems
Ruby wine is drunk by knaves
Samson stark at Dagon's knee
See yonder leafless trees against the sky
Seek not the spirit, if it hide
Seems, though the soft sheen all enchants
Set not thy foot on graves
She is gamesome and good
She paints with white and red the moors
She walked in flowers around my field
Shines the last age, the next with hope is seen
Shun passion, fold the hands of thrift
Six thankful weeks,—and let it be
Slighted Minerva's learnd tongue
Soft and softlier hold me, friends!
Solar insect on the wing
Some of your hurts you have cured
Space is ample, east and west
Spin the ball! I reel, I burn
Such another peerless queen
Sudden gusts came full of meaning
Tell me, maiden, dost thou use
Tell men what they knew before
Test of the poet is knowledge of love
Thanks to the morning light
That book is good
That each should in his house abide
That you are fair or wise is vain
The April winds are magical
The archangel Hope
The Asmodean feat is mine
The atom displaces all atoms beside
The bard and mystic held me for their own
The beggar begs by God's command
The brave Empedocles, defying fools
The brook sings on, but sings in vain
The cold gray down upon the quinces lieth
The cup of life is not so shallow
The days pass over me
The debt is paid
The gale that wrecked you on the sand
The green grass is bowing
The heavy blue chain
The living Heaven thy prayers respect
The lords of life, the lords of life
The low December vault in June be lifted high
Theme no poet gladly sung
The mountain and the squirrel
The Muse's hill by Fear is guarded
The patient Pan
The prosperous and beautiful
The rhyme of the poet
The rocky nook with hilltops three
The rules to men made evident
The sea is the road of the bold
The sense of the world is short
The solid, solid universe
The South-wind brings
The Sphinx is drowsy
The sun athwart the cloud thought it no sin
The sun goes down, and with him takes
The sun set, but set not his hope
The tongue is prone to lose the way
The water understands
The wings of Time are black and white
The word of the Lord by night
The yesterday doth never smile
Thee, dear friend, a brother soothes
There are beggars in Iran and Araby
There is in all the sons of men
There is no great and no small
There is no architect
They brought me rubies from the mine
They put their finger on their lips
They say, through patience, chalk
Thine eyes still shined for me, though far
Think me not unkind and rude
This is he, who, felled by foes
This shining moment is an edifice
Thou foolish Hafiz! Say, do churls
Thou shalt make thy house
Though her eyes seek other forms
Though loath to grieve
Though love repine and reason chafe
Thousand minstrels woke within me
Thy foes to hunt, thy enviers to strike down
Thy summer voice, Musketaquit
Thy trivial harp will never please
To and fro the Genius flies
To clothe the fiery thought
To transmute crime to wisdom, so to stem
Trees in groves
True Brahmin, in the morning meadows wet
Try the might the Muse affords
Two things thou shalt not long for, if thou love a mind serene
Two well-assorted travellers use
Unbar the door, since thou the Opener art
Venus, when her son was lost
Was never form and never face
We are what we are made; each following day
We crossed Champlain to Keeseville with our friends
We love the venerable house
Well and wisely said the Greek
What all the books of ages paint, I have
What care I, so they stand the same
What central flowing forces, say
When all their blooms the meadows flaunt
When I was born
When success exalts thy lot
When the pine tosses its cones
When wrath and terror changed Jove's regal port
Who gave thee, O Beauty
Who knows this or that? 375.
Who saw the hid beginnings
Who shall tell what did befall
Why did all manly gifts in Webster fail?
Why fear to die
Why lingerest thou, pale violet, to see the dying year
Why should I keep holiday
Wilt thou seal up the avenues of ill?
Winters know
Wise and polite,—and if I drew
Wisp and meteor nightly falling
With beams December planets dart
With the key of the secret he marches faster
Would you know what joy is hid
Yes, sometimes to the sorrow-stricken
You shall not be overbold
You shall not love me for what daily spends
Your picture smiles as first it smiled
