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Till the warm sun pities its pain, And to the skies exhales it back
Which only the angels hear, May have broken the woof of my
tent's thin roof, The stars peep behind her and
peer; And I laugh to see them whirl and
flee, Like a swarm of golden bees, When I widen the rent in my wind
built tent, Till the calm rivers, lakes, and
seas, Like strips of the sky fallen through
me on high Are each paved with the moon and
So the soul, that drop, that ray, Of the clear fountain of eternal
day, Could it within the human flower
be seen, Remembering still its former
height, Shuns the sweet leaves, and blos
soms green, And, recollecting its own light, Does, in its pure and circling
thoughts, express The greater heaven in a heaven less.
In how coy a figure wound,
It all about does upwards bend. Such did the manna's sacred dew dis
til, White and entire, although congealed
and chill; Congealed on earth; but does, dis
solving, run Into the glories of the almighty sun.
I am the daughter of earth and
water, And the nursling of the sky; I pass through the pores of the
nd shores; I change, but I cannot die. For after the rain, when with never
a stain, The pavilion of heaven is bare, And the winds and suubeams, with
their convex gleams, Build up the blue dome of air, I silently laugh at my own cenotaph,
And out of the caverns of rain, Like a child from the womb, like a
ghost from the tomb, I arise and unbuild it again.
A DROP OF DEW.
SEE how the orient dew,
Into the blowing roses, (Yet careless of its mansion new, For the clear region where 'twas
Like its own tear,
Trembling, lest it grow impure;
LIGHT-WINGED Smoke! Icarian bird, Melting thy pinions in thy upward
flight; Lark without song, and messenger
of dawn, Circling above the hamlets as thy
nest; Or else, departing dream, and shadOf midnight vision, gathering up thy
skirts; By night star-veiling, and by day Darkening the light and blotting out
the sun; Go thou, my incense, upward from
this hearth, And ask the gods to pardon this clear flame.
And when I was a child, I laid
And sank to slumbers deep:
Each movement of the swaying lamp
Shows how the vessel reels : As o'er her deck the billows tramp, And all her timbers strain and cramp
With every shock she feels. It starts and shudders, while it burns, And in its hinged socket turns.
Now swinging slow and slanting low,
It almost level lies;
With restless fall and rise,
Woor of the fen, ethereal gauze,
song, Establish thy serenity o'er the fields.
O hand of God! O lamp of peace!
O promise of my soul! Though weak, and tossed, and ill at
The ship's convulsive roll,
A heavenly trust my spirit calms,
My soul is filled with light: The Ocean sings his solemn psalms, The wild winds chant: I cross my
palms, Happy as if to-night Under the cottage roof again I heard the soothing summer rain.
J. T. TROWBRIDGE.
The night is made for cooling shade,
For silence, and for sleep;
HOME. — WOMAN. - LOVE. — FRIENDSHIP.
MANNERS. - BEAUTY.
“The privates of man's heart
They speken and sound in his ear