They tell me thou art rich, my country: gold

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…

So passionate, so full of pain, it sounded strange and eerie;I longed to hear a simpler strain,—the wood-notes of the veery.The laverock sings a bonny lay above the Scottish heather;It sprinkles down from far away like light and love together;He drops the golden notes to greet his brooding mate, his dearie;I only know one song…

Mother of all the manifold forms of life, deep-bosomed, patient, impassive,Silent brooder and nurse of lyrical joys and sorrows!Out of thee, yea, surely out of the fertile depth below thy breast,Issued in some strange way, thou lying motionless, voiceless,All these songs of nature, rhythmical, passionate, yearning,Coming in music from earth, but not unto earth returning.Dust…

So lowly, slowly wound the tune along,That far into my heart it found the way:A melody consoling and endearing;And still, in silent hours, I’m often hearingThe small, sweet song that does not die away.Long, long ago I saw a little flower,–(Ah, was it long ago, or yesterday?)So fair of face and fragrant for an hour,That…

Quick to throb with her hopes and fears,Fierce to flame with her sense of wrong!You, who hailed with a morning songDream-light gilding a throne of old:You, who turned when the dream grew cold,Singing still, to the light that shonePure from Liberty’s ancient throne,Over the human throng!You, who dared in the dark eclipse,–When the pygmy heir…

By living springs far up the watershed;No whirling flood nor parching drought controlsThe crystal current: even on the shoalsIt murmurs clear and sweet; and when its bedDarkens below mysterious cliffs of dread,Thy voice of peace grows deeper in our souls.But thou in youth hast known the breaking stressOf passion, and hast trod despair’s dry groundBeneath…