Sonnet 22 - When our two souls stand up erect and strong
When our two souls stand up erect and strong, Face to face, silent, drawing nigh and nigher, Until the lengthening wings break into fire At either curved point,—what bitter wrong
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प्रकृति
When our two souls stand up erect and strong, Face to face, silent, drawing nigh and nigher, Until the lengthening wings break into fire At either curved point,—what bitter wrong
Summer fading, winter comes-- Frosty mornings, tingling thumbs, Window robins, winter rooks, And the picture story-books.
Sometimes a mortal feels in himself Nature -- not his Father but his Mother stirs within him, and he becomes immortal with her immortality. From time to time she claims
On this wondrous sea, Sailing silently, Ho! pilot, ho! Knowest thou the shore
A scene, which 'wildered fancy viewed In the soul's coldest solitude, With that same scene when peaceful love Flings rapture's colour o'er the grove,
Little trotty wagtail he went in the rain, And tittering, tottering sideways he neer got straight again, He stooped to get a worm, and looked up to get a fly, And then he flew away ere his feathers they were dry.
IN the gloom of whiteness, In the great silence of snow, A child was sighing And bitterly saying: "Oh,
YOUTH, Nature, and relenting Jove, To keep my lamp _in_ strongly strove; But Romanelli was so stout, He beat all three--and _blew_ it _out_.
Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy 'Will,' And 'Will' to boot, and 'Will' in over-plus; More than enough am I that vex'd thee still, To thy sweet will making addition thus.
BUT lately seen in gladsome green, The woods rejoic’d the day, Thro’ gentle showers, the laughing flowers In double pride were gay:
Beautiful town of Montrose, I will now commence my lay, And I will write in praise of thee without dismay, And in spite of all your foes, l will venture to call thee Bonnie Montrose.
Grand rough old Martin Luther Bloomed fables-flowers on furze, The better the uncouther: Do roses stick like burrs?
LOCATIONS and times—what is it in me that meets them all, whenever and wherever, and makes me at home? Forms, colors, densities, odors—what is it in me that corresponds with them?
TERRIFIC FIEND! thou Monster fell, Condemn'd in haunts profane to dwell, Why quit thy solitary Home, O'er wide Creation's paths to roam?
The Rose was sick, and smiling died; And, being to be sanctified, About the bed, there sighing stood The sweet and flowery sisterhood.
How strange it seems! These Hebrews in their graves, Close by the street of this fair seaport town, Silent beside the never-silent waves, At rest in all this moving up and down!
Ah Sunflower, weary of time, Who countest the steps of the sun; Seeking after that sweet golden clime Where the traveller's journey is done;
Send but a song oversea for us, Heart of their hearts who are free, Heart of their singer, to be for us More than our singing can be;
'Twas noontide of summer, And midtime of night, And stars, in their orbits, Shone pale, through the light
Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night Sailed off in a wooden shoe,-- Sailed on a river of crystal light Into a sea of dew.
The Moon, how definite its orb! Yet gaze again, and with a steady gaze-- 'Tis there indeed,--but where is it not?-- It is suffused o'er all the sapphire Heaven,
O Goddess! hear these tuneless numbers, wrung By sweet enforcement and remembrance dear, And pardon that thy secrets should be sung Even into thine own soft-conched ear:
Happy the man, whose wish and care A few paternal acres bound, Content to breathe his native air In his own ground.
O true and tried, so well and long, Demand not thou a marriage lay; In that it is thy marriage day Is music more than any song.