Poems

t beat so fast, That each one thing in you did prize, Is silence too ; and saddest, last, The tears are dry within the eyes. A THOUGHT The plumage of a bird, so whiteâ?? One wave upon a moon-lit seaâ?? Round as a pearl is to the sightâ?? Fair as a sudden melody ; Dear is the thought: a breath, a glow, It moves amid the air of thingsâ?? And ever closer, subtler, grow The mysteries of its communings. I KNOW the wealth that decks the shrine, Each stately pier, each fine-cut gem ; And in the sky the diadem Of marble pinnacles a-shine : My eyes are rich in thought of themâ?? Yet that which moves me through and through And that which holds my life in grip, Is neither mind nor heart nor lip ; But you, but you and you. ALL lives by death. So beats each heart; The flowers that break the buds apart Reveal the year's recurrence : all Sweet songs in measure rise and fall. While far in space each golden sun Grows warm or cold, for rest is none. It is the deep relentless stream Which holds us, if we will or nay, Greater than we. An hour, a day, A year, what matters ? All is dream. There waits the greater boundless sea Before usâ??hollow vale and crestâ?? Foam to the starsâ??and on its breast We can alone contented be. Long years ago The great bronze bell Learnt the full voice Of that deep soul. We listen to its distant toll, And wonder, is there any choice To bid love come and hatred go ? It seems to tell Of places ...