Genre Poetry. Page - 5

e lowly birth of Godhead In the stable of the passions, In the manger of the mind-soul; Silent singer of the secret Of compassion deep and holy To the heart with sorrow burdened, To the soul with waiting weary:-- Star of all-surpassing brightness, Thou again dost deck the midnight; Thou again dost cheer the wise ones Watching in the creedal darkness, Weary of the endless battle With the grinding blades of error; Tired of lifeless, useless idols, Of the dead forms of religions; Spent with

increasing prospect tires our wandering eyes,Hills peep o'er hills and Alps on Alps arise!A perfect judge will read each work of witWith the same spirit that its author writSurvey the whole nor seek slight faults to findWhere nature moves and rapture warms the mind,Nor lose for that malignant dull delightThe generous pleasure to be charmed with witBut in such lays as neither ebb nor flow,Correctly cold and regularly lowThat, shunning faults, one quiet tenor keep;We cannot blame indeed--but we

black marble-made statuette, And when thou'lt have nought for thy house or alcove, But a cavernous den and a damp oubliette.When the tomb-stone, oppressing thy timorous breast, And thy hips drooping sweetly with listless decay, The pulse and desires of mine heart shall arrest, And thy feet from pursuing their adventurous way, Then the grave, that dark friend of my limitless dreams (For the grave ever readeth the poet aright), Amid those long nights, which no slumber redeems 'Twill query "

That saw the Possible like a dawn grow pale On the lost night before it, mute and vast. It dates remoter than God's birth can reach, That had no birth but the world's coming after. So the world's to me as, after whispered speech, The cause-ignored sudden echoing of laughter. That 't has a meaning my conjecture knows, But that 't has meaning's all its meaning shows. XXV. We are in Fate and Fate's and do but lack Outness from soul to know ourselves its dwelling, And do but compel Fate aside or

'd me to seek delays for them and me. And this it was,--for other means was none.-- The sailors sought for safety by our boat, And left the ship, then sinking-ripe, to us;: My wife, more careful for the latter-born, Had fast'ned him unto a small spare mast, Such as sea-faring men provide for storms: To him one of the other twins was bound, Whilst I had been like heedful of the other. The children thus dispos'd, my wife and I, Fixing our eyes on whom our care was fix'd, Fast'ned ourselves at

"_--Heedless and careless, still the world wags on, And leaves me broken ... Oh, my son! my son!_"Yet--think of this!-- Yea, rather think on this!-- He died as few men get the chance to die,-- Fighting to save a world's morality. He died the noblest death a man may die, Fighting for God, and Right, and Liberty;-- And such a death is Immortality. "_He died unnoticed in the muddy trench._" Nay,--God was with him, and he did not blench; Filled him with holy fires that nought

They must sacrifice their beauty Who would do their civic duty, Who the polling booth would enter, Who the ballot box would use; As they drop their ballots in it Men and women in a minute, Lose their charm, the antis tell us, But--the men have less to lose. Partners ("Our laws have not yet reached the point of holding that property whichis the result of the husband's earnings and the wife's savings becomestheir joint property.... In this most important of all partnershipsthere is no

erstand my language.And after seven moons, one day a soothsayer looked at me, and hesaid to my mother, "Your son will be a statesman and a great leaderof men." But I cried out,--"That is a false prophet; for I shall be amusician, and naught but a musician shall I be." But even at that age my language was not understood--and great wasmy astonishment. And after three and thirty years, during which my mother, and thenurse, and the priest have all died, (the shadow of God be

fall and possible demise-- for where was he? what was he? Shading her eyes, she looked along the road for Captain Barfoot--yes, there he was, punctual as ever; the attentions of the Captain--all ripened Betty Flanders, enlarged her figure, tinged her face with jollity, and flooded her eyes for no reason that any one could see perhaps three times a day.True, there's no harm in crying for one's husband, and the tombstone, though plain, was a solid piece of work, and on summer's days when the

ets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy: Why lov'st thou that which thou receiv'st not gladly, Or else receiv'st with pleasure thine annoy? If the true concord of well-tuned sounds, By unions married, do offend thine ear, They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds In singleness the parts that thou shouldst bear. Mark how one string, sweet husband to another, Strikes each in each by mutual ordering; Resembling sire and child and happy mother, Who, all in one, one pleasing note do sing: