A deep distress has humanised my soul.
Fear is a cloak which old men huddle about their love, as if to keep it warm.
When his veering gait And every motion of his starry train Seem governed by a strain Of music, audible to him alone.
Yet sometimes, when the secret cup Of still and serious thought went round, It seemed as if he drank it up, He felt with spirit so profound.
We meet thee, like a pleasant thought, When such are wanted.
And what if thou, sweet May, hast known Mishap by worm and blight; If expectations newly blown Have perished in thy sight; If loves and joys, while up they sprung, Were caught as in a snare; Such is the lot of all the young, However bright and fair.
Not in Utopia, – subterranean fields, – Or some secreted island, Heaven knows whereBut in the very world, which is the worldOf all of us, – the place where in the endWe find our happiness, or not at all.
And he is oft the wisest manWho is not wise at all.
Heaven lies about us in our infancy.
We bow our heads before Thee, and we laud, And magnify thy name Almighty God! But man is thy most awful instrument, In working out a pure intent.
The clouds that gather round the setting sun, Do take a sober colouring from an eye, That hath kept watch o’er man’s mortality.
But hearing oftentimes The still, sad music of humanity.
The harvest of a quiet eye, That broods and sleeps on his own heart.
The common growth of Mother Earth Suffices me,-her tears, her mirth, Her humblest mirth and tears.
One that would peep and botanize Upon his mother’s grave.
Neither evil tongues, rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men, nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all the dreary intercourse of daily life, shall ever prevail against us.
Huge and mighty forms that do not live like living men, moved slowly through the mind by day and were trouble to my dreams.
We will grieve not, rather find strength in what remains behind.
To the solid ground Of Nature trusts the mind which builds for aye.
Worse than idle is compassion if it ends in tears and sighs.