He lived beyond us and we stood As pygmies to his every mood, Mere pupils at his beck and nod,
He lived beyond men, and so stood Admitted to the brotherhood Of beauty: dreams, with which he trod
There is a place I search for still, Sequestered as the world of dreams, A bushy hollow, and a hill
I Heard a reed among the hills, A woodland reed of music where, Like madcap children, ran the rills,
I. In her wimple of wind and her slippers of sleep The twilight comes like a little goose-girl,
The hills look down on wood and stream, On orchard-land and farm; And o'er the hills the azure-gray
I. Oh, the morning meads, the dewy meads, Where he ploughs and harrows and sows the seeds,
Now nights grow cold and colder, And North the wild vane swings, And round each tree and boulder
I Sing, Hey, when the time rolls round this way, And the bells peal out, 'Tis Christmas Day;
Be of good cheer, and have no fear Of Fortune or Tomorrow: To Hope's low whisper lend an ear
And I have thought of youth which strains Nearer its God to rise, - What were ambition and its pains
I. She walks with the wind on the windy height When the rocks are loud and the waves are white,
I She walks with the wind on the windy height When the rocks are loud and the waves are white,
We went by ways of bygone days, Up mountain heights of story, Where lost in vague, historic haze,
He held himself splendidly forward Both early and late; The aim of his purpose was starward,
Across the world she sends me word, From gardens fair as Falerina's, Now by a blossom, now a bird,
I. They who maintained their rights, Through storm and stress,
Before I found her I had found Within my heart, as in a brook, Reflections of her: now a sound
Before I found her I had found Within my heart, as in a brook, Reflections of her: now a sound
With argosies of dawn he sails, And triremes of the dusk, The Seas of Song, whereon the gales
With argosies of dawn he sails, And triremes of the dusk, The Seas of Song, whereon the gales
At midnight in the trysting wood I wandered by the waterside, When, soft as mist, before me stood
What is there left for us to say, Now it has come to say good-by? And all our dreams of yesterday
One bright star in the firmament, One wild rose in the dew, And a girl, like the sparkling two,
Oh, dim and wan came in the dawn, And gloomy closed the day; The killdee whistled among the weeds,
High up in the organ-story A girl stands slim and fair; And touched with the casement's glory
Ah me! too soon the autumn comes Among these purple-plaintive hills! Too soon among the forest gums
Ah me! too soon the autumn comes Among these purple-plaintive hills! Too soon among the forest gums
I Dreamed my soul went wandering in An island dim with mystery; An island that, because of sin,
The way went under cedared gloom To moonlight, like a cactus bloom, Before the entrance of her tomb.
As I went through the wood, the wood, Through fern and pimpernel, A water fell, a water stood,
I look upon my lady's face, And, in the world about me, see No face like hers in any place:
All through the tepid Summer night The starless sky had poured a cool Monotony of pleasant rain
I. This is the place where visions come to dance, Dreams of the trees and flowers, glimmeringly;
Under mossy oak and pine Whispering falls the fountained stream; In its pool the lilies shine
He rode adown the autumn wood, A man dark-eyed and brown; A mountain girl before him stood
I. SPRING ON THE HILLS Ah, shall I follow, on the hills, The Spring, as wild wings follow?
Ah, God! were I away, away, By woodland-belted hills! There might be more in Thy bright day
The day is dead; and in the west The slender crescent of the moon-- Diana's crystal-kindled crest--
The day is dead; and in the west The slender crescent of the moon Diana's crystal-kindled crest
Made a face of biscuit-dough, Which our black cook gave me once; And this girl named So-and-So
Ye have ploughed the field like cattle, Ye have sown the dragon-seed, Are ye ready now for battle?
Gnarled acorn-oaks against a west Of copper, cavernous with fire; A wind of frost that gives no rest
The eve was a burning copper, The night was a boundless black Where wells of the lightning crumbled
To help our tired hope to toil, Lo! have we not the council here Of trees, that to all hope appear
There are some souls Whose lot it is to set their hearts on goals That adverse Fate controls.
Within the hollowed hand of God, Blood-red they lie, the dice of fate, That have no time nor period,
March set heel upon the flowers, Trod and trampled them for hours: But when April's bugles rang,
With fall on fall, from wood to wood, The brook pours mossy music down Or is it, in the solitude,
I can't get up with the chickens; I can't get up at dark: And what do I care for the early worm?
Heaped in raven loops and masses Over temples smooth and fair, Have you marked it, as she passes,
In her dark eyes dreams poetize; The soul sits lost in love: There is no thing in all the skies,
Were I an artist, Lydia, I Would paint you as you merit, Not as my eyes, but dreams, descry;
The Summer lightning comes and goes In one pale cloud above the hill, As if within its soft repose
I. The hurl and hurry of the winds of March, That tore the ash and bowed the pine and larch,
The waterfall, deep in the wood, Talked drowsily with solitude, A soft, insistent sound of foam,
The waterfall, deep in the wood, Talked drowsily with solitude, A soft, insistent sound of foam,
It seems that dawn will never climb The eastern hills; And, clad in mist and flame and rime,
I Beyond the Northern Lights, in regions haunted Of twilight, where the world is glacier planted,
What were this life without her? Joy, whose young face is sweet With dreams that flit about her,
You, who are met to remember Kentucky and give her praise; Who have warmed your hearts at the ember
What were sweet life without her Who maketh all things sweet With smiles that dream about her,
If GOD should say to me, Behold! - Yea, who shall doubt? - They who love others more than me,
All were in league to capture Love The rock, the stream, the tree; The very Month was leader of
I. When I fare forth to kiss the eyes of Spring, On ways, which arch gold sunbeams and pearl buds
The nuns sing, "ora pro nobis," The lancets glitter above; And the beautiful Virgin whose robe is
Here where LOVE lies perish'd, Look not in upon the dead; Lest the shadowy curtains, shaken
The memory of what we've lost Is with us more than what we've won; Perhaps because we count the cost
I. The last rose falls, wrecked of the wind and rain; Where once it bloomed the thorns alone remain:
The moon, a circle of gold, O'er the crowded housetops rolled, And peeped in an attic, where,
In dim samite was she bedight, And on her hair a hoop of gold, Like fox-fire in the tawn moonlight,
Oh, I am going home again, Back to the old house in the lane, And mother! who still sits and sews,
White roses, like a mist Upon a terraced height, And 'mid the roses, opal, moonbeam-kissed,
O day, so sicklied o'er with night! O dreadful fruit of fallen dusk! A Circe orange, golden-bright,
I The shivering wind sits in the oaks, whose limbs, Twisted and tortured, nevermore are still;
I. The shivering wind sits in the oaks, whose limbs, Twisted and tortured, nevermore are still;
Unto the soul's companionship Of things that only seem to be, Earth points with magic fingertip
Far off a wind blew, and I heard Wild echoes of the woods reply - The herald of some royal word,
Far off a wind blew, and I heard Wild echoes of the woods reply The herald of some royal word,
Clove-spicy pinks and phlox that fill the sense With drowsy indolence; And in the evening skies
Old Sis Snow, with hair ablow, Down the road now see her go! Her old gown pulled back and pinned
Let us bid the world good-by, Now while sun and cloud's above us, While we've nothing to deny,
Non numero horas nisi serenas When Fall drowns morns in mist, it seems In soul I am a part of it;
Non numero horas nisi serenas When Fall drowns morns in mist, it seems In soul I am a part of it;
Summer met Sleep at sunset, Dreaming within the south, Drugged with his soul's deep slumber,
She bewitched me in my childhood, And the witch's charm is hidden - Far beyond the wicked wildwood
Now when wan winter sunsets be Canary-colored down the sky; When nights are starless utterly,
A Log-Hut in the solitude, A clapboard roof to rest beneath! This side, the shadow-haunted wood;
I. Around, the stillness deepened; then the grain Went wild with wind; and every briery lane
The locust builds its are of sound And tops it with a spire; The roadside leaves pant to the ground
I. I shall not soon forget her and her eyes, The haunts of hate, where suffering seemed to write
A Sufi debauchee of dreams Spake this: From Sodomite to Peri Earth tablets us; we live and are
An agate black thy roguish eyes Claim no proud lineage of skies, No velvet blue, but of sweet Earth,
By the burnished laurel line Glimmering flows the singing stream; Oily eddies crease and shine
The dim verbena drugs the dusk With lemon-heavy odours where The heliotropes breathe drowsy musk
Deep-hearted roses of the purple dusk And lilies of the morn; And cactus, holding up a slender tusk
I looked into the night and saw GOD writing with tumultuous flame Upon the thunder's front of awe, -
Hear you r o music in the creaks Made by the sallow grasshopper, Who in the hot weeds sharply breaks
Deep with divine tautology, The sunset's mighty mystery Again has traced the scroll-like west
Deep with divine tautology, The sunset's mighty mystery Again has traced the scroll-like West
The moth and beetle wing about The garden ways of other days; Above the hills, a fiery shout
The moth and beetle wing about The garden ways of other days; Above the hills, a fiery shout
Under the boughs of spring She swung in the old rope-swing. Her cheeks, with their happy blood,
I had not found the road too short, As once I had in days of youth, In that old forest of long ruth,
I had not found the road too short, As once I had in days of youth, In that old forest of long ruth,
Once a charcoal wagon passed, And an old black charcoalman, "Blacker than a midnight blast,"
Wide-walled it stands in heathen lands Beside a mystic sea, With streets strange-trod of many a god,
O cheerly, cheerly by the road And merrily down the billet; And where the acre-field is sowed
I. First of the insect choir, in the spring We hear his faint voice fluttering in the grass,
The cross I bear no man shall know No man can ease the cross I bear! Alas! the thorny path of woe
Summer, gowned in catnip-gray, Goes her weedy wildwood way, Where with rosehip-buttoned coat,
Between the darkness and the day As, lost in doubt, I went my way, I met a shape, as faint as fair,
The scent of dittany was hot. Its smell intensified the heat: Into his brain it seemed to beat
Yes, I love the homestead. There In the spring the lilacs blew Plenteous perfume everywhere;
Not into these dark cities, These sordid marts and streets, That the sun in his rising pities,
To come in touch with mysteries Of beauty idealizing Earth, Go seek the hills, grown old with trees,
They are the wise who look before, Nor fear to look behind; Who in the darkness still ignore
(Built by a Child in a deep Forest.) How fancy romped and played here, Building this house of moss!
Last night it was Hallowe'en. Darkest night I've ever seen. And the boy next door, I thought,
Whenever on the windowpane I hear the fingers of the rain, And in the old trees, near the door,
There's something now that no one knows, That never seems to mind me Where is it that my shadow goes
A river binds the lonely land, A river like a silver band, To crags and shores of yellow sand.
I Have not seen her face, and yet She is more sweet than any thing Of Earth than rose or violet
In the woods, not long ago, Met with Robin Goodfell'w; First we heard his horse-like laugh
The moon in the East is glowing; I sit by the moaning sea; The mists down the sea are blowing,
Lift up thy torch, O Year, and let us see What Destiny Hath made thee heir to at nativity!
I. I have heard the wind on a winter's night, When the snow-cold moon looked icily through
Dormered and verandaed, cool, Locust-girdled, on the hill; Stained with weather-wear, and dull-
Dormered and verandaed, cool, Locust-girdled, on the hill; Stained with weather-wear, and dull-
Spurge and sea-pink, hyssop blue, Dragonhead of purple hue; Catnip, frosted green and gray,
The old remain, the young are gone. The farm dreams lonely on the hill: From early eve to early dawn
He stands above all worldly schism, And, gazing over life's abysm Beholds within the starry range
And I told the boy next door What Jack Frost had done; and he Said, "Ah shucks! that's nothing; see?
I Can freckled August, - drowsing warm and blond Beside a wheat-shock in the white-topped mead,
I Can freckled August,--drowsing warm and blonde Beside a wheat-shock in the white-topped mead,
Along the road I smelt the rose, The wild-rose in its veil of rain; And how it was, God only knows,
In a kingdom of mist and moonlight, Or ever the world was known, Past leagues of unsailed water,
Ah me! I shall not waken soon From dreams of such divinity! A spirit singing 'neath the moon
Ah me! I shall not waken soon From dreams of such divinity! A spirit singing 'neath the moon
A shadow glided down the way Where sunset groped among the trees, And all the woodland bower, asway
Upon the mossed rock by the spring She sits, forgetful of her pail, Lost in remote remembering
Upon the mossed rock by the spring She sits, forgetful of her pail, Lost in remote remembering
"We have the receipt of fern seed: we walk invisible." Henry IV And we have met but twice or thrice!
"O Fons Bandusi'!" Push back the brambles, berry-blue, The hollowed spring is full in view;
A sultan proud and tawny At elegant ease he stands, With his bare throat brown and scrawny,
Had fallen a fragrant shower; The leaves were dripping yet; Each fern and rain-weighed flower
A lily in a twilight place? A moonflow'r in the lonely night? - Strange beauty of a woman's face
There she rose as white as death, Stars above and stars beneath; Where the ripples brake in splendor
From the hills and far away All the long, warm summer day Comes the wind and seems to say:
The Winter Wind, the wind of death, Who knocked upon my door, Now through the key-hole entereth,
The Winter Wind, the wind of death, Who knocked upon my door, Now through the keyhole entereth,
The thorn-tree waved a bough of May And all its branches bent To indicate the wildwood way
Elfins of the Autumn night, Gather! gather! work's to do: Th re's the toadstool, plump and white,
What though I dreamed of mountain heights, Of peaks, the barriers of the world, Around whose tops the Northern Lights
I. O Dark-Eyed goddess of the marble brow, Whose look is silence and whose touch is night,
Would I could talk as the flowers talk To my soul! and the stars, in their ceaseless walk Through Heaven! and tell to the high and low
Ah me! too soon the Autumn comes Among these purple-plaintive hills! Too soon among the forest gums
When Spring comes down the wildwood way, A crocus in her ear, Sweet in her train, returned with May,
In years to come, will you forget, Dear girl, how often we have met? And I have gazed into your eyes
I Morn's mystic rose is reddening on the hills, Dawn's irised nautilus makes glad the sea;