XVIII That no dreamer, no neglecter SLEEPING AND WATCHING I SLEEP on, baby, on the floor, One cheek, pushed out by the hand, Heavy laid for pleasure, II I, who cannot sleep as well, All that may undo you? Nay, keep smiling, little child, Ere the sorrow neareth: I will smile too! patience mild Pleasure's token weareth. Nay, keep sleeping before loss: I shall sleep though losing! As by cradle, so by cross, Sure is the reposing. III And God knows who sees us twain, Child at childish leisure, I am near as tired of pain As you seem of pleasure. Very soon too, by His grace Gently wrapt around me, Shall I show as calm a face, Shall I sleep as soundly. Differing in this, that you Clasp your playthings, sleeping, While my hand shall drop the few Given to my keeping : Differing in this, that I Sleeping shall be colder, And in waking presently, Brighter to beholder: Differing in this beside (Sleeper, have you heard me! Do you move, and open wide Eyes of wonder toward me?)That while you, I thus recall From your sleep, I solely, Me from mine an angel shall, With reveillie holy. SOUNDS Ηκουσας ἢ οὐκ ἤκουσας; AESCHYLUS. I HEARKEN, hearken! The rapid river carrieth Many noises underneath The hoary ocean : Teaching his solemnity Sounds of inland life and glee, Learnt beside the waving tree, When the winds in summer prank Toss the shades from bank to bank, And the quick rains, in emotion Which rather gladdens earth than grieves, Count and visibly rehearse The pulses of the universe Upon the summer leavesLearnt among the lilies straight, When they bow them to the weight Of many bees whose hidden hum Seemeth from themselves to comeLearnt among the grasses green, Where the rustling mice are seen By the gleaming, as they run, Of their quick eyes in the sun; And lazy sheep are browsing through, With their noses trailed in dew; And the squirrel leaps adown, Holding fast the filbert brown; And the lark, with more of mirth In his song than suits the earth, Droppeth some in soaring high, Which ever and anon he swelleth In the ocean's ear. II Hearken, hearken! The child is shouting at his play The marriage bells do swing; Save when he droppeth his voice adown, And a baby cries with a feeble sound And an old man groans,—with his Only half-signed,-for the life that's spent ; And lovers twain do softly say, As they sit on a grave, 'For ay, for ay'; Looks greenly upward, curse each other. A beldame's age-cracked voice doth sing A patriot leaving his native land to them, While he sticketh the gaudy poppies red A piper's music out on the floor. In and out the senseless head And nigh to the awful Dead, the living And he who on that narrow bier III Hearken, hearken! God speaketh to thy soul, All life with consciousness of Deity, As the seer-saint of Patmos, loving John God speaketh in thy soul, To break beside the fount thy golden bowl My right hand hath thine immortality I am the end of love !-give love to Me! O thou that sinnest, grace doth more abound Than all thy sin! sit still beneath My rood, And count the droppings of My victimblood, And seek none other sound!' II Green the land is where my daily Steps in jocund childhood played, Dimpled close with hill and valley, Dappled very close with shade; Summer-snow of apple blossoms running up from glade to glade. III There is one hill I see nearer In my vision of the rest; And a little wood seems clearer Sideway from the tree-locked valley, to the airy upland crest. IV Small the wood is, green with hazels, And, completing the ascent, Where the wind blows and sun dazzles Thrills in leafy tremblement, Like a heart that, after climbing, beateth quickly through content. V Not a step the wood advances O'er the open hill-top's bound; There, in green arrest, the branches See their image on the ground: You may walk beneath them smiling, glad with sight and glad with sound. VI For you hearken on your right hand, How the birds do leap and call In the greenwood, out of sight and Out of reach and fear of all; And the squirrels crack the filberts through their cheerful madrigal. VII On your left, the sheep are cropping The slant grass and daisies pale, And five apple-trees stand dropping Separate shadows toward the vale, Over which, in choral silence, the hills look you their 'All hail!' VIII Far out, kindled by each other, Close as brother leans to brother |