The worlds in which we live at heart are one,
The world ‘I am,’ the fruit of ‘I have done’;
And underneath these worlds of flower and fruit,
The world ‘I love,’–the only living root.
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Dear Aldrich, now November’s mellow daysHave brought another Festa round to you,You can’t refuse a loving-cup of praiseFrom friends the fleeting years have bound to you.Here come your Marjorie Daw, your dear Bad Boy,Prudence, and Judith the Bethulian,And many more, to wish you birthday joy,And sunny hours, and sky caerulean!Your children all, they hurry to…
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Where the land you call your own,Where your palace and your throne?Fluttering lightly on the wingThrough the blossom-world of May,Whither lies your royal way,Little king?Far to northward lies a landWhere the trees together standClosely as the blades of wheatWhen the summer is complete.Rolling like an ocean wideOver vale and mountainside,Balsam, hemlock, spruce and pine,-All those…
Like a long arrow through the dark the train is darting,
Wakeful with all the sad-sweet memories of parting,I lift the narrow window-shade and look out on the night.Lonely the land unknown, and like a river flowing,Forest and field and hill are gliding backward still athwart my dream;Till in that country strange, and ever stranger growing,A magic city full of lights begins to glow and gleam.Wide…
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Of pure philosophy and tranquil song;Born to behold the visions that belongTo those who dwell in melody and light;Milton, thou spirit delicate and bright!What drew thee down to join the Roundhead throngOf iron-sided warriors, rude and strong,Fighting for freedom in a world half night?Lover of Liberty at heart wast thou,Above all beauty bright, all music…
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And comforting, completeIn every line, a crystal sphere,And full of intimate and secret cheer.Therefore I will repeatThat vision, dearest heart, to you,As of a thing not feigned, but very true,Yes, true as ever in my life befell;And you, perhaps, can tellWhether my dream was really sad or sweet.IIThe shadows flecked the elm-embowered streetI knew so…
Glory of architect, glory of painter, and sculptor, and bard,
Look how the world with the lights that they lit is illumined and starred,Brief was the flame of their life, but the lamps of their art burn long!Where is the Master of Music, and how has he vanished away?Where is the work that he wrought with his wonderful art in the air?Gone, — it is…