I "Now give us lands where the olives grow," Cried the North to the South, "Where the sun with a golden mouth can blow Blow bubbles of grapes down a vineyard-row!" Cried the North to the South. ...
Said a people to a poet "Go out from among us straightway! While we are thinking earthly things, thou singest of divine. There's a little fair brown nightingale, who, sitting in the gateways...
I count the dismal time by months and years Since last I felt the green sward under foot, And the great breath of all things summer Met mine upon my lips. Now earth appears...
'My lips do need thy breath, My lips do need thy smile, And my pallid eyne, that light in thine Which met the stars erewhile: Yet go with light and life If that thou lovest one...
I. I stand on the mark beside the shore Of the first white pilgrim's bended knee, Where exile turned to ancestor, And God was thanked for liberty. I have run through the night, my skin is as dark,...
The seraph sings before the manifest God-One, and in the burning of the Seven, And with the full life of consummate Heaving beneath him like a mother's Warm with her first-born's slumber in that...
With stammering lips and insufficient sound I strive and struggle to deliver right That music of my nature, day and night With dream and thought and feeling interwound And inly answering all the senses round...
Two savings of the Holy Scriptures beat Like pulses in the Church's brow and breast; And by them we find rest in our unrest And, heart deep in salt-tears, do yet entreat...
Which is the weakest thing of all Mine heart can ponder? The sun, a little cloud can pall With darkness yonder? The cloud, a little wind can move Where'er it listeth? The wind, a little leaf above,...
Loving friend, the gift of one, Who, her own true faith, hath run, Through thy lower nature; Be my benediction said With my hand upon thy head, Gentle fellow-creature! ...
Thou large-brained woman and large-hearted man, Self-called George Sand! whose soul, amid the lions Of thy tumultuous senses, moans defiance And answers roar for roar, as spirits can:...
True genius, but true woman! dost deny The woman's nature with a manly scorn And break away the gauds and armlets worn By weaker women in captivity? Ah, vain denial! that revolted cry...
What are we set on earth for? Say, to toil; Nor seek to leave thy tending of the vines For all the heat o' the day, till it declines, And Death's mild curfew shall from work assoil....
The woman singeth at her spinning-wheel A pleasant chant, ballad or barcarole; She thinketh of her song, upon the whole, Far more than of her flax; and yet the reel Is full, and artfully her fingers feel...