Who are these coming to the sacrifice? To what green altar, O mysterious priest, Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies, And all her silken flanks with garlands drest? What little town by river or sea shore, Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel, Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn? And, little town, thy streets for evermore Will silent be; and not a soul to tell Why thou art desolate, can e'er return. O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede When old age shall this generation waste, Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st, "Beauty is truth, truth beauty," that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know. SONG. In a drear-nighted December, Their green felicity: The north cannot undo them With a sleety whistle through them; Nor frozen thawings glue them From budding at the prime. In a drear-nighted December, But with a sweet forgetting, About the frozen time. Ah! would 'twere so with many To know the change and feel it, FAERY SONG. Shed no tear! O! shed no tear! Weep no more! O! weep no more! Young buds sleep in the root's white core. Dry your eyes! O! dry your eyes! For I was taught in Paradise To ease my breast of melodies Shed no tear! O! shed no tear! I vanish in the heaven's blue Adieu, Adieu! TO SLEEP. O soft embalmer of the still midnight! Shutting, with careful fingers and benign, O soothest Sleep! if so it please thee, close, Then save me, or the passed day will shine Upon my pillow, breeding many woes; Save me from curious conscience, that still hoards Its strength, for darkness burrowing like a mole; Turn the key deftly in the oiled wards, And seal the hushed casket of my soul. ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. (b 1806 d 1861). A CHILD'S THOUGHT OF GOD. I. They say that God lives very high; You cannot see our God; and why? II. And if you dig down in the mines Though from Him all that's glory shines. III. God is so good, He wears a fold Of heaven and earth across His face Like secrets kept, for love, untold. IV. But still I feel that His embrace - Slides down by thrills, through all things made Through sight and sound of every place: V. As if my tender mother laid On my shut lips her kisses' pressure, Half-waking me at night, and said "Who kissed you through the dark, dear guesser?" THE SOUL'S EXPRESSION. With stammering lips and insufficient sound With dream and thought and feeling interwound, This song of soul I struggle to outbear Through portals of the sense, sublime and whole, But if I did it, as the thunder-roll Breaks its own cloud, my flesh would perish there, COMFORT. Speak low to me, my Saviour, low and sweet SONNET XXXIII. (FROM "SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE.") Yes, call me by pet-name! let me hear The name I used to run at, when a child, From innocent play, and leave the cowslips piled, To glance up in some face that proved me dear With the look of its eyes. I miss the clear Fond voices which, being drawn and reconciled HOEKZEMA, Poetry. 4th Ed. 12 |