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On solitary souls, the universe
In the screening time Of purple blossoms, when the petals crowd And softly crush like cherub cheeks in heaven, Who thinks of greenly withered fruit and worms? O the warm southern spring is beauteous ! And in love's spring all good seems possible : No threats, all promise, brooklets ripple full And bathe the rushes, vicious crawling things Are pretty eggs, the sun shines graciously And parches not, the silent rain beats warm As childhood's kisses, days are young and grow, And earth seems in its sweet beginning time Fresh made for two who live in Paradise.
WARM whispering through the slender olive leaves
Came to me a gentle sound,
Whispering of a secret found
Called it gladness, called it joy,
Drew me on-'come hither, boy'To where the blue wings rested on the corn.
I thought the gentle sound had whispered true
Thought the little heaven mine,
Leaned to clutch the thing divine, And saw the blue wings melt within the blue.
The time is great. (What times are little ? To the sentinel That hour is regal when he mounts on guard.)
Castilian gentlemen Choose not their task—they choose to do it well.
Great Love has many attributes, and shrines
It was in the prime
In the linnet's throat
Trembled the love-note,
Each a tiny elf,
And the thinnest self.
It was but a minute
In a far-off Spring,
But each gentle thing,
With the thinnest self,
So the dire hours Burthened with destiny—the death of hopes Darkening long generations, or the birth Of thoughts undying-such hours sweep along
In their aërial ocean measureless
The soul of man is widening towards the past :
In moments high
Faith, the stronger for extremity,
Can we believe that the dear dead are gone ? Love in sad weeds forgets the funeral-day, Opens the chamber door and almost smilesThen sees the sunbeams pierce athwart the bed Where the pale face is not.
Spirits seem buried and their epitaph
Push off the boat,
The stars will guide us back :-
O waves that keep no track !