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Oh, I see the crescent promise of my spirit o, hark, O, hear! how thin and clear,

O hath not set.

And thinner, clearer, farther going! Ancient founts of inspiration well through o, sweet and far from cliff and scar

O all my fancy yet.

The horns of Elfland faintly blowing! 10

Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying; Howsoever these things be, a long farewell Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, to Locksley Hall?

dying. Now for me the woods may wither, now for me the roof-tree fall.


O love, they die in yon rich sky,

They faint on hill or field or river; Comes a vapor from the margin, blacken- Our echoes roll from soul to soul,

15 ing over heath and holt,

And grow for ever and for ever. Cramming all the blast before it, in its Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flybreast a thunderbolt.


And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, Let it fall on Locksley Hall, with rain or dying.

hail, or fire or snow; For the mighty wind arises, roaring sea

TEARS, IDLE TEARS ward, and I go.

Tears, idle tears, I know not what they BREAK, BREAK, BREAK

mean, Break, break, break,

Tears from the depth of some divine On thy cold gray stones, O Sea!

despair And I would that my tongue could utter

Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, The thoughts that arise in me.

In looking on the happy autumn-fields,

And thinking of the days that are no O well for the fisherman's boy,

5 That he shouts with his sister at play! O well for the sailor lad,

Fresh as the first beam glittering on a That he sings in his boat on the bay!


That brings our friends up from the underAnd the stately ships go on

world, To their haven under the hill;

Sad as the last which reddens over one

That sinks with all we love below the But O for the touch of a vanished hand, And the sound of a voice that is still!


So sad, so fresh, the days that are no Break, break, break, At the foot of thy crags, O Sea!

Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer But the tender grace of a day that is

dawns dead

15 The earliest pipe of half-awakened birds Will never come back to me.

To dying ears, when unto dying eyes

The casement slowly grows a glimmering SONGS from THE PRINCESS

square; BUGLE SONG So sad, so strange, the days that are no

!5 The splendor falls on castle walls And snowy summits old in story;

Dear as remembered kisses after death, The long light shakes across the lakes, And sweet as those by hopeless fancy And the wild cataract leaps in glory.

feigned Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes fly- On lips that are for others; deep as love,

, ing,

Deep as first love, and wild with all regret; Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dy- O Death in Life, the days that are no ing, dying








20 66 2

HOME THEY BROUGHT HER WAR- We have but faith: we cannot know; RIOR DEAD

For knowledge is of things we see;

And yet we trust it comes from thee, Home they brought her warrior dead; A beam in darkness: let it grow.

She nor swooned nor uttered cry: All her maidens, watching, said,

Let knowledge grow from more to more, 25 “She must weep or she will die."

But more of reverence in us dwell;

That mind and soul, according well, Then they praised him, soft and low, 5 May make one music as before,

Called him worthy to be loved, Truest friend and noblest foe;

But vaster. We are fools and slight; Yet she neither spoke nor moved.

We mock thee when we do not fear: 30

But help thy foolish ones to bear; Stole a maiden from her place,

Help thy vain worlds to bear thy light. Lightly to the warrior stepped, Took the face-cloth from the face; Forgive what seemed my sin in me; Yet she neither moved nor wept.

What seemed my worth since I began;

For merit lives from man to man, 35 Rose a nurse of ninety years,

And not from man, O Lord, to thee.
Set his child upon her knee-
Like summer tempest came her tears- 15 Forgive my grief for one removed,
"Sweet my child, I live for thee."

Thy creature, whom I found so fair.

I trust he lives in thee, and there
I find him worthier to be loved.




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Ring in the valiant man and free, Wild bird, whose warble, liquid sweet,

The larger heart, the kindlier hand; 30 Rings Eden through the budded quicks,

Ring out the darkness of the land, O tell me where the senses mix,

Ring in the Christ that is to be. O tell me where the passions meet,


Now fades the last long streak of snow, Whence radiate: fierce extremes employ 5 Now burgeons' every maze of quick Thy spirits in the darkening leaf,

About the flowering squares, and thick And in the midmost heart of grief

By ashen roots the violets blow. Thy passion clasps a secret joy;

Now rings the woodland loud and long, 5 And I-my harp would prelude woe- The distance takes a lovelier hue, I cannot all command the strings;

And drowned in yonder living blue The glory of the sum of things The lark becomes a sightless song. Will flash along the chords and go.

Now dance the lights on lawn and lea,

The flocks are whiter down the vale, 10

And milkier every milky sail
Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light:

On winding stream or distant sea;
The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Where now the seamew pipes, or dives

In yonder greening gleam, and fly

The happy birds, that change their sky 15 Ring out the old, ring in the new, 5 To build and brood; that live their lives

Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
The year is going, let him go;

From land to land; and in my breast Ring out the false, ring in the true.

Spring wakens too, and my regret

Becomes an April violet,
Ring out the grief that saps the mind, And buds and blossoms like the rest.

For those that here we see no more; 10
Ring out the feud of rich and poor;

Ring in redress to all mankind.

Love is and was my lord and king,

And in his presence I attend Ring out a slowly dying cause,

To hear the tidings of my friend, And ancient forms of party strife;

Which every hour the couriers bring. Ring in the nobler modes of life,

15 With sweeter manners, purer laws.

Love is and was my king and lord, 5

And will be, though as yet I keep

Within the court on earth, and sleep
Ring out the want, the care, the sin,
The faithless coldness of the times;

Encompassed by his faithful guard,
Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes, and hear at times a sentinel
But ring the fuller minstrel in.

Who moves about from place to place, 10

And whispers to the worlds of space, Ring out false pride in place and blood, In the deep night, that all is well.

The civic slander and the spite;
Ring in the love of truth and right,

Ring in the common love of good. O living will that shalt endure

When all that seems shall suffer shock, Ring out old shapes of foul disease;


Rise in the spiritual rock, Ring out the narrowing lust of gold; Flow through our deeds and make them Ring out the thousand wars of old,

pure, Ring in the thousand years of peace. .

square fields enclosed by hedges.



i blossoms.




That we may lift from out of dust 5 Upon a pastoral slope as fair,
A voice as unto him that hears,

And looking to the South, and fed
A cry above the conquered years With honeyed rain and delicate air,
To one that with us works, and trust, And haunted by the starry head

Of her whose gentle will has changed my With faith that comes of self-control,

fate, The truths that never can be proved And made my life a perfumed altarUntil we close with all we loved,

flame, And all we flow from, soul in soul. And over whom thy darkness must have


25 With such delight as theirs of old, thy THE EAGLE


Forefathers of the thornless garden, there He clasps the crag with crooked hands; Shadowing the snow-limbed Eve from Close to the sun in lonely lands,

whom she came? Ringed with the azure world, he stands.

Here will I lie, while these long branches The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;

sway, He watches from his mountain walls,

5 And you fair stars that crown a happy day And like a thunderbolt he falls.

Go in and out as if at merry play, 31
Who am no more so all forlorn,

As when it seemed far better to be born

To labor and the mattock-hardened hand

Than nursed at ease and brought to underXVIII stand

35 I have led her home, my love, my only A sad astrology, the boundless plan friend.

That makes you tyrants in your iron skies, There is none like her, none.

Innumerable, pitiless, passionless eyes, And never yet so warmly ran my blood Cold fires, yet with power to burn and And sweetly, on and on

brand Calming itself to the long-wished-for end, 5

His nothingness into man.

40 Full to the banks, close on the promised good.

But now shine on, and what care I, None like her, none.

Who in this stormy gulf have found a pearl Just now the dry-tongued laurels' patter. And do accept my madness, and would

The countercharm of space and hollow sky,

, ing talk Seemed her light foot along the garden To save from some slight shame one simple

die walk, And shook my heart to think she comes


45 once more; But even then I heard her close the door; Would die; for sullen-seeming Death may The gates of Heaven are closed, and she give

More life to Love than is or ever was

In our low world, where yet 'tis sweet to There is none like her, none,

live. Nor will be when our summers have de

Let no one ask me how it came to pass; ceased.

It seems that I am happy, that to me 50 0, art thou sighing for Lebanon

A livelier emerald twinkles in the grass,

15 In the long breeze that streams to thy | A purer sapphire melts into the sea.

delicious East, Sighing for Lebanon,

Not die; but live a life of truest breath, Dark cedar, though thy limbs have here And teach true life to fight with mortal increased,



is gone.



O, why should Love, like men in drinking And the woodbine spices are wafted songs, 55 abroad,

5 Spice his fair banquet with the dust of And the musk of the rose is blown.

death? Make answer, Maud my bliss,

For a breeze of morning moves, Maud made my Maud by that long loving And the planet of love is on high, kiss;

Beginning to faint in the light that she Life of my life, wilt thou not answer this?

loves “The dusky strand of Death inwoven here

On a bed of daffodil sky, With dear Love's tie, makes Love himself

To faint in the light of the sun she loves, more dear.”


To faint in his light, and to die. Is that enchanted moan only the swell

All night have the roses heard Of the long waves that roll in yonder bay?

The flute, violin, bassoon; And hark the clock within, the silver knell

All night has the casement jessamine Of twelve sweet hours that passed in bridal


15 white,

65 To the dancers dancing in tune; And died to live, long as my pulses play; Till a silence fell with the waking bird, But now by this my love has closed her

And a hush with the setting moon. sight, And given false death her hand, and stolen

I said to the lily, “There is but one, away

With whom she has heart to be gay. To dreamful wastes where footless fancies

When will the dancers leave her alone? dwell

She is weary of dance and play." Among the fragments of the golden day.

Now half to the setting moon are gone, May nothing there her maiden grace af

And half to the rising day; fright!


Low on the sand and loud on the stone 25 Dear heart, I feel with thee the drowsy

The last wheel echoes away. spell. My bride to be, my evermore delight,

I said to the rose, “The brief night goes My own heart's heart, my ownest own, farewell;

In babble and revel and wine. It is but for a little space I go,

O young lord-lover, what sighs are those, 75

For one that will never be thine? And ye meanwhile far over moor and fell

30 Beat to the noiseless music of the night!

But mine, but mine," so I sware to the Has our whole earth gone nearer to the


“For ever and ever, mine." glow Of your soft splendors that you look so bright?

And the soul of the rose went into my I have climbed nearer out of lonely Hell.

blood, Beat, happy stars, timing with things be

As the music clashed in the hall; low,

81 And long by the garden lake I stood, 35 Beat with my heart more blest than heart

For I heard your rivulet fall can tell,

From the lake to the meadow and on to Blest, but for some dark undercurrent woe

the wood,
That seems to draw-but it shall not be Our wood, that is dearer than all;

Let all be well, be well.

From the meadow your walks have left

So sweet

That whenever a March-wind sighs 40 Come into the garden, Maud,

He sets the jewel-print of your feet For the black bat, night, has flown; In violets blue as your eyes, Come into the garden, Maud,

To the woody hollows in which we meet I am here at the gate alone;

And the valleys of Paradise.

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