Her suffering ended with the day,
Yet lived she at its close,
And breathed the long, long night away
In statue-like repose.
But when the sun in all his state
Illumed the eastern skies,
She passed through Glory's morning-gate,
And walked in Paradise.
Somewhere--in desolate wind-swept space--
In Twilight-land--in No-man's land--
Two hurrying Shapes met face to face,
And bade each other stand.
"And who are you?" cried one, agape,
Shuddering in the gloaming light.
"I know not," said the second Shape,
"I only died last night."
So precious life is! Even to the old
The hours are as a miser's coins!
Wide open and unguarded stand our gates,
Named of the four winds, North, South, East and West;
Portals that lead to an enchanted land...
Here, it is written, Toil shall have its wage
And Honor honor, and the humblest man
Stand level with the highest in the law.
Of such a land have men in dungeons dreamed
And with the vision brightening in their eyes
Gone smiling to the fagot and the sword.
O Liberty, white Goddess! is it well
To leave the gates unguarded? On thy breast
Fold Sorrow's children, soothe the hurts of Fate,
Lift the down-trodden, but with hand of steel
Stay those who to thy sacred portals come
To waste the gifts of Freedom.
Here is woe, a self and not the mask of woe.
That was indeed to live--
At one bold swoop to wrest
From darkling death the best
That Death to Life can give!
What is more cheerful, now, in the fall of the year, than an open-wood-fire? Do you hear those little chirps and twitters coming out of that piece of apple-wood? Those are the ghosts of the robins and blue-birds that sang upon the bough when it was in blossom last Spring. In Summer whole flocks of them come fluttering about the fruit-trees under the window: so I have singing birds all the year round.
To keep the heart unwrinkled, to be hopeful, kindly, cheerful, reverent that is to triumph over old age.
Have you not heard the poets tell How came the dainty Baby Bell Into this world of ours?
What is lovely never dies, But passes into other loveliness, Star-dust, or sea-foam, flower or winged air.
In 1846 the prairie town of Oak River existed only in a settler's dream.
It was the first Tuesday in August. The Nebraska heat rolled in upon one like the engulfing waves of a dry sea,--a thick material substance against which one seemed to push when moving about.
Gracious to all, to none subservient, Without offense he spoke the word he meant.
Or light or dark, or short or tall, She sets a springe to snare them all: All's one to her--above her fan She'd make sweet eyes at Caliban.
Day is a snow-white Dove of heaven That from the East glad message brings.
But when the sun in all his state, Illumed the eastern skies, She passed through glory's morning gate, And walked in Paradise.
Somewhere, in desolate, wind-swept space, In twilight land, in no man's land, Two hurrying shapes met face to face And bade each other stand. "And who are you?" cried one, a-gape, Shuddering in the glimmering light. "I know not," said the second shape, "I only died last night."
Only the sea intoning, Only the wainscot-mouse, Only the wild wind moaning Over the lonely house.
When to soft Sleep we give ourselves away, And in a dream as in a fairy bark Drift on and on through the enchanted dark To purple daybreak--little thought we pay To that sweet bitter world we know by day.
When the Sultan Shah-Zaman Goes to the city Ispahan, Even before he gets so far As the place where the clustered palm-trees are, At the last of the thirty palace-gates The pet of the harem, Rose-in-Bloom, Orders a feast in his favorite room-- Glittering square of colored ice, Sweetened with syrup, tinctured with spice, Creams, and cordials, and sugared dates, Syrian apples, Othmanee quinces, Limes and citrons and apricots, And wines that are known to Eastern princes.
In her eyes a thought Grew sweeter and sweeter, deepening like the dawn, A mystical forewarning.
The happy bells shall ring Marguerite; The summer birds shall sing Marguerite; You smile but you shall wear Orange blossoms in your hair, Marguerite.
To keep the heart unwrinkled, to be hopeful, kindly, cheerful, reverent-- that is to triumph over old age.
When friends are at your hearthside met, Sweet courtesy has done its most If you have made each guest forget That he himself is not the host.