SIGHS. YIELD NOT, THOU SAD ONE, TO But the breeze, ere it ruffled the deep, Pervading the odorous bowers, Awaken'd the flowers from their On yield not, thou sad one, to Nor murmur at Destiny's will. And day would seem dark without Oh, blame not the change nor the flight Of our joys as they're passing away, 'Tis the swiftness and change give delight[stay. They would pall if permitted to Then yield not, thou sad one, to More gaily they glitter in flying, sighs. When we look on some lake that repeats The loveliness bounding its shore, A breeze o'er the soft surface fleets, And the mirror-like beauty is o'er. They perish in lustre still bright, Like the hues of the dolphin, in dying. Or the humming-bird's wing in its flight. Then yield not, thou sad one, to sighs. The little bird sits at his door in the sun, Atilt like a blossom among the leaves, EARTH gets its price for what earth And lets his illumined being o'errun gives us; The beggar is taxed for a corner to die in, The priest hath his fee who comes and shrives us, We bargain for the graves we lie in; With the deluge of summer it receives: His mate feels the eggs beneath her wings, And the heart in her lumb breast flutters and sings; He sings to the wide world, and she Who knows whither the clouds have That dandelions are blossoming near, That maize has sprouted, that streams are flowing, That the river is bluer than the sky, That the robin is plastering his house hard by; And if the breeze kept the good news back, For other couriers we should not lack; We could guess it all by yon heifer's lowing, And hark! how clear bold chanticleer, Warmed with the new wine of the year, Tells all in his lusty crowing! Joy comes, grief goes, we know not how; Everything is happy now, Everything is upward striving; 'Tis as easy now for the heart to be true As for grass to be green or skies to be blue,- 'Tis the natural way of living: fled? In the unscarred heaven they leave no wake; And the eyes forget the tears they have shed, The heart forgets its sorrow and ache. AFTER THE BURIAL. YES, faith is a goodly anchor; And when over breakers to leeward But, after the shipwreck, tell me In the breaking gulfs of sorrow, When the helpless feet stretch out And find in the deeps of darkness No footing so solid as doubt, Then better one spar of memory, To the spirit its splendid conjectures, Immortal? I feel it and know it, There's a narrow ridge in the graveyard Would scarce stay a child in his race, But to me and my thought, it is wider Than the star-sown vague of space. |