From lonely prairies and God’s tenderness.
Imperial soul, star of a weedy stream,
Born where the ghosts of buffaloes still dream,
Whose spirit hoof-beats storm above his grave,
Above that breast of earth and prairie-fire —
Fire that freed the slave.
Similar Posts
Where now the huts are empty,
In an abandoned cañon,A Gambler’s Ghost arose.He muttered there, ‘The moon’s a sackOf dust.’ His voice rose thin:‘I wish I knew the miner-man.I’d play, and play to win.In every game in Cripple-creekOf old, when stakes were high,I held my own. Now I would playFor that sack in the sky.The sport would not be ended there.‘Twould…
Ah, in the night, all music haunts me here. . . .
And the tremendous Amaranth descendsSweet with the glory of ten thousand dawns?Does it not mean my God would have me say: —‘Whether you will or no, O city young,Heaven will bloom like one great flower for you,Flash and loom greatly all your marts among?’Friends, I will not cease hoping though you weep.Such things I see,…
Oh, once I walked a garden
And many orange-trees grew thereIn sand as white as glass.The curving, wide wall-borderWas marble, like the snow.I walked that wall a fairy-princeAnd, pacing quaint and slow,Beside me were my pages,Two giant, friendly birds.Half swan they were, half peacock.They spake in courtier-words.Their inner wings a charriot,Their outer wings for flight,They lifted me from dreamland.We bade those…
This doll upon the topmost bough,
Was taken down and brought to meOne sleety night most comfortless.Her hair was gold, her dolly-sashWas gray brocade, most good to see.The dear toy laughed, and I forgotThe ill the new year promised me.
Once I loved a fairy,
Was like a little FountainThat bids the birds rejoice.Her face was wise and solemn,Her hair was brown and fine.Her dress was pansy velvet,A butterfly design.To see her hover round meOr walk the hills of air,Awakened love’s deep pulsesAnd boyhood’s first despair;A passion like a sword-bladeThat pierced me thro’ and thro’:Her fingers healed the sorrowHer whisper…
Would I might wake in you the whirl-wind soul
And Night and Day revealed, whose arm aloneCould draw the face of God, the titan highWhose genius smote like lightning from the sky —And shall he mold like dead leaves in the grave?Nay he is in us! Let us dare and dare.God help us to be brave.