A Lyric of the Dawn

Ho, there he goes

Through the alder close!

He leaves me here behind him in his flight,

And yet my heart goes with him out of sight!

What whispered spell

Of Faëry calls me on from dell to dell?

I hear the voice-it wanders in a dream

Now in the grove, now on the hill, now on the fading stream.

Lead on you know the way—

Lead on to Arcady,

O'er fields asleep; by river bank abrim;
Down leafy ways, dewy and cool and dim;
By dripping rocks, dark dwellings of the gnome,
Where hurrying waters dash their crests to foam.
I follow where you lead,

Down winding paths, across the flowery mead,
Down silent hollows where the woodbine blows,
Up water-courses scented by the rose.

I follow the wandering voice

I follow, I rejoice,

I fade away into the Age of Gold—
We two together lost in forest old.-

A Lyric of the Dawn

O ferny and thymy paths, O fields of Aidenn,
Canyons and cliffs by mortal feet untrod!
O souls that are weary and are heavy laden,
Here is the peace of God!

Lo! now the clamoring hours are on the
Faintly the pine tops redden in the ray;
From vale to vale fleet-footed rumors run,
With sudden apprehension of the sun;
A light wind stirs

The filmy tops of delicate dim firs,

And on the river border blows, Breaking the shy bud softly to a rose.

Sing out, O throstle, sing:

I follow on, my king:

way:

Lead me forever through the crimson dawn—

Till the world ends, lead me on!

Ho there! he shouts again-he sways
Upspringing from the bough,

Flashing a glint of dew upon the ground,
Without a sound

He drops into a valley and is gone!

and now,

Joy of the Morning

I hear you, little bird,

Shouting aswing above the broken wall.
Shout louder yet: no song can tell it all.
Sing to my soul in the deep still wood:
'Tis wonderful beyond the wildest word:
I'd tell it, too, if I could.

Oft when the white, still dawn

Lifted the skies and pushed the hills apart, I've felt it like a glory in my heart

(The world's mysterious stir) —

But had no throat like yours, my bird,
Nor such a listener.

Once, I remember, the world was young;
The rills rejoiced with a silver tongue;
The field-lark sat in the wheat and
sang;
The thrush's shout in the woodland rang;
The cliffs and the perilous sands afar
Were softened to mist by the morning star;
For Youth was with me (I know it now!),
And a light shone out from his wreathed brow.
He turned the fields to enchanted ground,
He touched the rains with a dreamy sound.

But alas, he vanished, and Time appeared,
The Spirit of Ages, old and weird.

He crushed and scattered my beamy wings;
He dragged me forth from the court of kings;
He gave me doubt and a bloom of beard,

This Spirit of Ages, old and weird.

Youth and Time

The wonder went from the field of corn,
The glory died on the craggy horn;
And suddenly all was strange and gray,
And the rocks came out on the trodden way.

I hear no more the wild thrush sing:
He is silent now on the peach aswing.
Something is gone from the house of mirth -
Something is gone from the hills of Earth.
Time hurries me on with a wizard hand;
He turns the Earth to a homeless land;
He stays my life with a stingy breath,
And darkens its depths with foreknowledge of
death;

Calls memories back on their path apace;

Sends desperate thoughts to the soul's dim place.

Time murders our youth with his sorrow and

sin,

And pushes us on to the windowless inn.