OLXXV.

"LIKE A MUSICIAN."

LIKE a musician that with flying finger
Startles the voice of some new instrument,
And, though he know that in one string are blent
All its extremes of sound, yet still doth linger
Among the lighter threads, fearing to start
The deep soul of that one melodious wire,
Lest it, unanswering, dash his high desire,
And spoil the hopes of his expectant heart;
Thus with my mistress oft conversing, I
Stir every lighter theme with careless voice,
Gathering sweet music and celestial joys
From the harmonious soul o'er which I fly;
Yet o'er the one deep master-chord I hover,
And dare not stoop, fearing to tell-I love her.

CLXXVI.

TO THE HARVEST MOON.

AGAIN thou reignest in thy golden hall,
Rejoicing in thy sway, fair queen of night!
The ruddy reapers hail thee with delight:
Theirs is the harvest, theirs the joyous call
For tasks well ended ere the season's fall.

Sweet orb, thou smilest from thy starry height;
But whilst on them thy beams are shedding bright,
To me thou com'st o'ershadowed with a pall;
To me alone the year hath fruitless flown;

Earth hath fulfilled her trust through all her lands,

The good man gathereth where he had sown,
And the Great Master in his vineyard stands;

But I, as if my task were all unknown,
Come to his gates alas! with empty hands.

CLXXVII.

REMEMBER.

REMEMBER me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more, day by day,
You tell me of our future that you planned:
Only remember me; you understand

It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve;
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.

M

CLXXVIII.

ONE CERTAINTY.

VANITY of vanities, the Preacher saith,
All things are vanity. The eye and ear
Cannot be filled with what they see and hear.
Like early dew, or like the sudden breath
Of wind, or like the grass that withereth,

Is man, tossed to and fro by hope and fear :
So little joy hath he, so little cheer,
Till all things end in the long dust of death.
To-day is still the same as yesterday,

To-morrow also even as one of them; And there is nothing new under the sun : Until the ancient sea of Time be run,

The old thorns shall grow out of the old stem, And morning shall be cold, and twilight grey.

CLXXIX.

THE WORLD.

By day she wooes me, soft, exceeding fair:
But all night as the moon so changeth she;
Loathsome and foul with hideous leprosy,
And subtle serpents gliding in her hair.
By day she wooes me to the outer air,

Ripe fruits, sweet flowers, and full satiety :

But through the night, a beast she grins at me,
A very monster void of love and prayer.

By day she stands a lie: by night she stands,
In all the naked horror of the truth,

With pushing horns and clawed and clutching hands.
Is this a friend indeed; that I should sell

My soul to her, give her my life and youth, Till my feet, cloven too, take hold on hell.