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 sea breaking under;

And their home on the cliff in the midst of the
wonder,

Hung high beyond fear on the gray granite

stair.

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.

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?

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-