I.

O Age that half believ'st thou half believ'st, Half doubt'st the substance of thine own half doubt, And, half perceiving that thou half perceiv'st, Stand'st at thy temple door, heart in, head out! Lo! while thy heart's within, helping the choir, Without, thine eyes range up and down the time, Blinking at o'er-bright science, smit with desire To see and not to see. Hence, crime on crime. Yea, if the Christ (called thine) now paced yon street, Thy halfness hot with His rebuke would swell; Legions of scribes would rise and run and beat His fair intolerable Wholeness twice to hell. `Nay' (so, dear Heart, thou whisperest in my soul), `'Tis a half time, yet Time will make it whole.'

II.

Now at thy soft recalling voice I rise Where thought is lord o'er Time's complete estate, Like as a dove from out the gray sedge flies To tree-tops green where cooes his heavenly mate. From these clear coverts high and cool I see How every time with every time is knit, And each to all is mortised cunningly, And none is sole or whole, yet all are fit. Thus, if this Age but as a comma show 'Twixt weightier clauses of large-worded years, My calmer soul scorns not the mark: I know This crooked point Time's complex sentence clears. Yet more I learn while, Friend! I sit by thee: Who sees all time, sees all eternity.

III.

If I do ask, How God can dumbness keep While Sin creeps grinning through His house of Time, Stabbing His saintliest children in their sleep, And staining holy walls with clots of crime? — Or, How may He whose wish but names a fact Refuse what miser's-scanting of supply Would richly glut each void where man hath lacked Of grace or bread? — or, How may Power deny Wholeness to th' almost-folk that hurt our hope — These heart-break Hamlets who so barely fail In life or art that but a hair's more scope Had set them fair on heights they ne'er may scale? — Somehow by thee, dear Love, I win content: Thy Perfect stops th' Imperfect's argument.

IV.

By the more height of thy sweet stature grown, Twice-eyed with thy gray vision set in mine, I ken far lands to wifeless men unknown, I compass stars for one-sexed eyes too fine. No text on sea-horizons cloudily writ, No maxim vaguely starred in fields or skies, But this wise thou-in-me deciphers it: Oh, thou'rt the Height of heights, the Eye of eyes. Not hardest Fortune's most unbounded stress Can blind my soul nor hurl it from on high, Possessing thee, the self of loftiness, And very light that Light discovers by. Howe'er thou turn'st, wrong Earth! still Love's in sight: For we are taller than the breadth of night.

____ Baltimore, 1874-5.

Laus Mariae.

Across the brook of Time man leaping goes On stepping-stones of epochs, that uprise Fixed, memorable, midst broad shallow flows Of neutrals, kill-times, sleeps, indifferencies. So twixt each morn and night rise salient heaps: Some cross with but a zigzag, jaded pace From meal to meal: some with convulsive leaps Shake the green tussocks of malign disgrace: And some advance by system and deep art O'er vantages of wealth, place, learning, tact. But thou within thyself, dear manifold heart, Dost bind all epochs in one dainty Fact. Oh, sweet, my pretty sum of history, I leapt the breadth of Time in loving thee!

____ Baltimore, 1874-5.

Special Pleading.

Time, hurry my Love to me: Haste, haste! Lov'st not good company? Here's but a heart-break sandy waste 'Twixt Now and Then. Why, killing haste Were best, dear Time, for thee, for thee!

Oh, would that I might divine Thy name beyond the zodiac sign Wherefrom our times-to-come descend. He called thee `Sometime'. Change it, friend: `Now-time' sounds so much more fine!

Sweet Sometime, fly fast to me: Poor Now-time sits in the Lonesome-tree And broods as gray as any dove, And calls, `When wilt thou come, O Love?' And pleads across the waste to thee.

Good Moment, that giv'st him me, Wast ever in love? Maybe, maybe Thou'lt be this heavenly velvet time When Day and Night as rhyme and rhyme Set lip to lip dusk-modestly;

Or haply some noon afar, — O life's top bud, mixt rose and star, How ever can thine utmost sweet Be star-consummate, rose-complete, Till thy rich reds full opened are?

Well, be it dusk-time or noon-time, I ask but one small boon, Time: Come thou in night, come thou in day, I care not, I care not: have thine own way, But only, but only, come soon, Time.

____ Baltimore, 1875.

The Bee.

What time I paced, at pleasant morn, A deep and dewy wood, I heard a mellow hunting-horn Make dim report of Dian's lustihood Far down a heavenly hollow. Mine ear, though fain, had pain to follow: `Tara!' it twanged, `tara-tara!' it blew, Yet wavered oft, and flew Most ficklewise about, or here, or there, A music now from earth and now from air. But on a sudden, lo! I marked a blossom shiver to and fro With dainty inward storm; and there within A down-drawn trump of yellow jessamine A bee Thrust up its sad-gold body lustily, All in a honey madness hotly bound On blissful burglary. A cunning sound In that wing-music held me: down I lay In amber shades of many a golden spray, Where looping low with languid arms the Vine In wreaths of ravishment did overtwine Her kneeling Live-Oak, thousand-fold to plight Herself unto her own true stalwart knight.

As some dim blur of distant music nears The long-desiring sense, and slowly clears To forms of time and apprehensive tune, So, as I lay, full soon Interpretation throve: the bee's fanfare, Through sequent films of discourse vague as air, Passed to plain words, while, fanning faint perfume, The bee o'erhung a rich, unrifled bloom: "O Earth, fair lordly Blossom, soft a-shine Upon the star-pranked universal vine, Hast nought for me? To thee Come I, a poet, hereward haply blown, From out another worldflower lately flown. Wilt ask, `What profit e'er a poet brings?' He beareth starry stuff about his wings To pollen thee and sting thee fertile: nay, If still thou narrow thy contracted way, — Worldflower, if thou refuse me — — Worldflower, if thou abuse me, And hoist thy stamen's spear-point high To wound my wing and mar mine eye — Nathless I'll drive me to thy deepest sweet, Yea, richlier shall that pain the pollen beat From me to thee, for oft these pollens be Fine dust from wars that poets wage for thee. But, O beloved Earthbloom soft a-shine Upon the universal Jessamine, Prithee, abuse me not, Prithee, refuse me not, Yield, yield the heartsome honey love to me Hid in thy nectary!" And as I sank into a dimmer dream The pleading bee's song-burthen sole did seem: "Hast ne'er a honey-drop of love for me In thy huge nectary?"

____ Tampa, Florida, 1877.

The Harlequin of Dreams.

Swift, through some trap mine eyes have never found, Dim-panelled in the painted scene of Sleep, Thou, giant Harlequin of Dreams, dost leap Upon my spirit's stage. Then Sight and Sound, Then Space and Time, then Language, Mete and Bound, And all familiar Forms that firmly keep Man's reason in the road, change faces, peep Betwixt the legs and mock the daily round. Yet thou canst more than mock: sometimes my tears At midnight break through bounden lids — a sign Thou hast a heart: and oft thy little leaven Of dream-taught wisdom works me bettered years. In one night witch, saint, trickster, fool divine, I think thou'rt Jester at the Court of Heaven!

____ Baltimore, 1878.

Street Cries.

Oft seems the Time a market-town Where many merchant-spirits meet Who up and down and up and down Cry out along the street

Their needs, as wares; one THUS, one SO: Till all the ways are full of sound: — But still come rain, and sun, and snow, And still the world goes round.

I. Remonstrance.

"Opinion, let me alone: I am not thine. Prim Creed, with categoric point, forbear To feature me my Lord by rule and line. Thou canst not measure Mistress Nature's hair, Not one sweet inch: nay, if thy sight is sharp, Would'st count the strings upon an angel's harp? Forbear, forbear.

"Oh let me love my Lord more fathom deep Than there is line to sound with: let me love My fellow not as men that mandates keep: Yea, all that's lovable, below, above, That let me love by heart, by heart, because (Free from the penal pressure of the laws) I find it fair.

"The tears I weep by day and bitter night, Opinion! for thy sole salt vintage fall. — As morn by morn I rise with fresh delight, Time through my casement cheerily doth call `Nature is new, 'tis birthday every day, Come feast with me, let no man say me nay, Whate'er befall.'

"So fare I forth to feast: I sit beside Some brother bright: but, ere good-morrow's passed, Burly Opinion wedging in hath cried `Thou shalt not sit by us, to break thy fast, Save to our Rubric thou subscribe and swear — `Religion hath blue eyes and yellow hair:' She's Saxon, all.'

"Then, hard a-hungered for my brother's grace Till well-nigh fain to swear his folly's true, In sad dissent I turn my longing face To him that sits on the left: `Brother, — with you?' — `Nay, not with me, save thou subscribe and swear `Religion hath black eyes and raven hair:' Nought else is true.'

"Debarred of banquets that my heart could make With every man on every day of life, I homeward turn, my fires of pain to slake In deep endearments of a worshipped wife. `I love thee well, dear Love,' quoth she, `and yet Would that thy creed with mine completely met, As one, not two.'

"Assassin! Thief! Opinion, 'tis thy work. By Church, by throne, by hearth, by every good That's in the Town of Time, I see thee lurk, And e'er some shadow stays where thou hast stood. Thou hand'st sweet Socrates his hemlock sour; Thou sav'st Barabbas in that hideous hour, And stabb'st the good

"Deliverer Christ; thou rack'st the souls of men; Thou tossest girls to lions and boys to flames; Thou hew'st Crusader down by Saracen; Thou buildest closets full of secret shames; Indifferent cruel, thou dost blow the blaze Round Ridley or Servetus; all thy days Smell scorched; I would

"— Thou base-born Accident of time and place — Bigot Pretender unto Judgment's throne — Bastard, that claimest with a cunning face Those rights the true, true Son of Man doth own By Love's authority — thou Rebel cold At head of civil wars and quarrels old — Thou Knife on a throne —

"I would thou left'st me free, to live with love, And faith, that through the love of love doth find My Lord's dear presence in the stars above, The clods below, the flesh without, the mind Within, the bread, the tear, the smile. Opinion, damned Intriguer, gray with guile, Let me alone."

____ Baltimore, 1878-9.

II. The Ship of Earth.

"Thou Ship of Earth, with Death, and Birth, and Life, and Sex aboard, And fires of Desires burning hotly in the hold, I fear thee, O! I fear thee, for I hear the tongue and sword At battle on the deck, and the wild mutineers are bold!

"The dewdrop morn may fall from off the petal of the sky, But all the deck is wet with blood and stains the crystal red. A pilot, GOD, a pilot! for the helm is left awry, And the best sailors in the ship lie there among the dead!"

____ Prattville, Alabama, 1868.

III. How Love Looked for Hell.

"To heal his heart of long-time pain One day Prince Love for to travel was fain With Ministers Mind and Sense. `Now what to thee most strange may be?' Quoth Mind and Sense. `All things above, One curious thing I first would see — Hell,' quoth Love.

"Then Mind rode in and Sense rode out: They searched the ways of man about. First frightfully groaneth Sense. `'Tis here, 'tis here,' and spurreth in fear To the top of the hill that hangeth above And plucketh the Prince: `Come, come, 'tis here —' `Where?' quoth Love —

"`Not far, not far,' said shivering Sense As they rode on. `A short way hence, — But seventy paces hence: Look, King, dost see where suddenly This road doth dip from the height above? Cold blew a mouldy wind by me' (`Cold?' quoth Love)

"`As I rode down, and the River was black, And yon-side, lo! an endless wrack And rabble of souls,' sighed Sense, `Their eyes upturned and begged and burned In brimstone lakes, and a Hand above Beat back the hands that upward yearned —' `Nay!' quoth Love —

"`Yea, yea, sweet Prince; thyself shalt see, Wilt thou but down this slope with me; 'Tis palpable,' whispered Sense. — At the foot of the hill a living rill Shone, and the lilies shone white above; `But now 'twas black, 'twas a river, this rill,' (`Black?' quoth Love)

"`Ay, black, but lo! the lilies grow, And yon-side where was woe, was woe, — Where the rabble of souls,' cried Sense, `Did shrivel and turn and beg and burn, Thrust back in the brimstone from above — Is banked of violet, rose, and fern:' `How?' quoth Love:

"`For lakes of pain, yon pleasant plain Of woods and grass and yellow grain Doth ravish the soul and sense: And never a sigh beneath the sky, And folk that smile and gaze above —' `But saw'st thou here, with thine own eye, Hell?' quoth Love.

"`I saw true hell with mine own eye, True hell, or light hath told a lie, True, verily,' quoth stout Sense. Then Love rode round and searched the ground, The caves below, the hills above; `But I cannot find where thou hast found Hell,' quoth Love.

"There, while they stood in a green wood And marvelled still on Ill and Good, Came suddenly Minister Mind. `In the heart of sin doth hell begin: 'Tis not below, 'tis not above, It lieth within, it lieth within:' (`Where?' quoth Love)

"`I saw a man sit by a corse; `Hell's in the murderer's breast: remorse!' Thus clamored his mind to his mind: Not fleshly dole is the sinner's goal, Hell's not below, nor yet above, 'Tis fixed in the ever-damned soul —' `Fixed?' quoth Love —

"`Fixed: follow me, would'st thou but see: He weepeth under yon willow tree, Fast chained to his corse,' quoth Mind. Full soon they passed, for they rode fast, Where the piteous willow bent above. `Now shall I see at last, at last, Hell,' quoth Love.

"There when they came Mind suffered shame: `These be the same and not the same,' A-wondering whispered Mind. Lo, face by face two spirits pace Where the blissful willow waves above: One saith: `Do me a friendly grace —' (`Grace!' quoth Love)

"`Read me two Dreams that linger long, Dim as returns of old-time song That flicker about the mind. I dreamed (how deep in mortal sleep!) I struck thee dead, then stood above, With tears that none but dreamers weep;' `Dreams,' quoth Love;

"`In dreams, again, I plucked a flower That clung with pain and stung with power, Yea, nettled me, body and mind.' `'Twas the nettle of sin, 'twas medicine; No need nor seed of it here Above; In dreams of hate true loves begin.' `True,' quoth Love.

"`Now strange,' quoth Sense, and `Strange,' quoth Mind, `We saw it, and yet 'tis hard to find, — But we saw it,' quoth Sense and Mind. Stretched on the ground, beautiful-crowned Of the piteous willow that wreathed above, `But I cannot find where ye have found Hell,' quoth Love."

____ Baltimore, 1878-9.

IV. Tyranny.

"Spring-germs, spring-germs, I charge you by your life, go back to death. This glebe is sick, this wind is foul of breath. Stay: feed the worms.

"Oh! every clod Is faint, and falters from the war of growth And crumbles in a dreary dust of sloth, Unploughed, untrod.

"What need, what need, To hide with flowers the curse upon the hills, Or sanctify the banks of sluggish rills Where vapors breed?

"And — if needs must — Advance, O Summer-heats! upon the land, And bake the bloody mould to shards and sand And dust.

"Before your birth, Burn up, O Roses! with your dainty flame. Good Violets, sweet Violets, hide shame Below the earth.

"Ye silent Mills, Reject the bitter kindness of the moss. O Farms! protest if any tree emboss The barren hills.

"Young Trade is dead, And swart Work sullen sits in the hillside fern And folds his arms that find no bread to earn, And bows his head.

"Spring-germs, spring-germs, Albeit the towns have left you place to play, I charge you, sport not. Winter owns to-day, Stay: feed the worms."

____ Prattville, Alabama, 1868.

V. Life and Song.

"If life were caught by a clarionet, And a wild heart, throbbing in the reed, Should thrill its joy and trill its fret, And utter its heart in every deed,

"Then would this breathing clarionet Type what the poet fain would be; For none o' the singers ever yet Has wholly lived his minstrelsy,

"Or clearly sung his true, true thought, Or utterly bodied forth his life, Or out of life and song has wrought The perfect one of man and wife;

"Or lived and sung, that Life and Song Might each express the other's all, Careless if life or art were long Since both were one, to stand or fall:

"So that the wonder struck the crowd, Who shouted it about the land: `His song was only living aloud, His work, a singing with his hand!'"

____ 1868.

VI. To Richard Wagner.

"I saw a sky of stars that rolled in grime. All glory twinkled through some sweat of fight, From each tall chimney of the roaring time That shot his fire far up the sooty night Mixt fuels — Labor's Right and Labor's Crime — Sent upward throb on throb of scarlet light Till huge hot blushes in the heavens blent With golden hues of Trade's high firmament.

"Fierce burned the furnaces; yet all seemed well, Hope dreamed rich music in the rattling mills. `Ye foundries, ye shall cast my church a bell,' Loud cried the Future from the farthest hills: `Ye groaning forces, crack me every shell Of customs, old constraints, and narrow ills; Thou, lithe Invention, wake and pry and guess, Till thy deft mind invents me Happiness.'

"And I beheld high scaffoldings of creeds Crumbling from round Religion's perfect Fane: And a vast noise of rights, wrongs, powers, needs, — Cries of new Faiths that called `This Way is plain,' — Grindings of upper against lower greeds — — Fond sighs for old things, shouts for new, — did reign Below that stream of golden fire that broke, Mottled with red, above the seas of smoke.

"Hark! Gay fanfares from halls of old Romance Strike through the clouds of clamor: who be these That, paired in rich processional, advance From darkness o'er the murk mad factories Into yon flaming road, and sink, strange Ministrants! Sheer down to earth, with many minstrelsies And motions fine, and mix about the scene And fill the Time with forms of ancient mien?

"Bright ladies and brave knights of Fatherland; Sad mariners, no harbor e'er may hold, A swan soft floating tow'rds a magic strand; Dim ghosts, of earth, air, water, fire, steel, gold, Wind, grief, and love; a lewd and lurking band Of Powers — dark Conspiracy, Cunning cold, Gray Sorcery; magic cloaks and rings and rods; Valkyries, heroes, Rhinemaids, giants, gods!

* * * * *

"O Wagner, westward bring thy heavenly art, No trifler thou: Siegfried and Wotan be Names for big ballads of the modern heart. Thine ears hear deeper than thine eyes can see. Voice of the monstrous mill, the shouting mart, Not less of airy cloud and wave and tree, Thou, thou, if even to thyself unknown, Hast power to say the Time in terms of tone."

____ 1877.

VII. A Song of Love.

"Hey, rose, just born Twin to a thorn; Was't so with you, O Love and Scorn?

"Sweet eyes that smiled, Now wet and wild; O Eye and Tear — mother and child.

"Well: Love and Pain Be kinsfolk twain: Yet would, Oh would I could love again."

To Beethoven.

In o'er-strict calyx lingering, Lay music's bud too long unblown, Till thou, Beethoven, breathed the spring: Then bloomed the perfect rose of tone.

O Psalmist of the weak, the strong, O Troubadour of love and strife, Co-Litanist of right and wrong, Sole Hymner of the whole of life,

I know not how, I care not why, — Thy music sets my world at ease, And melts my passion's mortal cry In satisfying symphonies.

It soothes my accusations sour 'Gainst thoughts that fray the restless soul: The stain of death; the pain of power; The lack of love 'twixt part and whole;

The yea-nay of Freewill and Fate, Whereof both cannot be, yet are; The praise a poet wins too late Who starves from earth into a star;

The lies that serve great parties well, While truths but give their Christ a cross; The loves that send warm souls to hell, While cold-blood neuters take no loss;

Th' indifferent smile that nature's grace On Jesus, Judas, pours alike; Th' indifferent frown on nature's face When luminous lightnings strangely strike

The sailor praying on his knees And spare his mate that's cursing God; How babes and widows starve and freeze, Yet Nature will not stir a clod;

Why Nature blinds us in each act Yet makes no law in mercy bend, No pitfall from our feet retract, No storm cry out `Take shelter, friend;'

Why snakes that crawl the earth should ply Rattles, that whoso hears may shun, While serpent lightnings in the sky, But rattle when the deed is done;

How truth can e'er be good for them That have not eyes to bear its strength, And yet how stern our lights condemn Delays that lend the darkness length;

To know all things, save knowingness; To grasp, yet loosen, feeling's rein; To waste no manhood on success; To look with pleasure upon pain;

Though teased by small mixt social claims, To lose no large simplicity, And midst of clear-seen crimes and shames To move with manly purity;

To hold, with keen, yet loving eyes, Art's realm from Cleverness apart, To know the Clever good and wise, Yet haunt the lonesome heights of Art;

O Psalmist of the weak, the strong, O Troubadour of love and strife, Co-Litanist of right and wrong, Sole Hymner of the whole of life,

I know not how, I care not why, Thy music brings this broil at ease, And melts my passion's mortal cry In satisfying symphonies.

Yea, it forgives me all my sins, Fits life to love like rhyme to rhyme, And tunes the task each day begins By the last trumpet-note of Time.

____ 1876-7.

An Frau Nannette Falk-Auerbach.

Als du im Saal mit deiner himmlischen Kunst Beethoven zeigst, und seinem Willen nach Mit den zehn Fingern fuehrst der Leute Gunst, Zehn Zungen sagen was der Meister sprach. Schauend dich an, ich seh', dass nicht allein Du sitzest: jetzt herab die Toene ziehn Beethovens Geist: er steht bei dir, ganz rein: Fuer dich mit Vaters Stolz sein' Augen gluehn: Er sagt, "Ich hoerte dich aus Himmelsluft, Die kommt ja naeher, wo ein Kuenstler spielt: Mein Kind (ich sagte) mich zur Erde ruft: Ja, weil mein Arm kein Kind im Leben hielt, Gott hat mir dich nach meinem Tod gegeben, Nannette, Tochter! dich, mein zweites Leben!"

____ Baltimore, 1878.

To Nannette Falk-Auerbach.

Oft as I hear thee, wrapt in heavenly art, The massive message of Beethoven tell With thy ten fingers to the people's heart As if ten tongues told news of heaven and hell, — Gazing on thee, I mark that not alone, Ah, not alone, thou sittest: there, by thee, Beethoven's self, dear living lord of tone, Doth stand and smile upon thy mastery. Full fain and fatherly his great eyes glow: He says, "From Heaven, my child, I heard thee call (For, where an artist plays, the sky is low): Yea, since my lonesome life did lack love's all, In death, God gives me thee: thus, quit of pain, Daughter, Nannette! in thee I live again."

____ Baltimore, 1878.

To Our Mocking-Bird.

Died of a cat, May, 1878.