Glide on, in the glory and gladness sent, To the farthest wall of the firmament, The boundless visible smile of Him, To the veil of whose brow your lamps are dim." BRYANT. THE MILKY WAY. "Lo," quoth he, "cast up thine eye, See yonder, lo! the galaxie, That once was brent with the hete, The cart horses gan well aspie, Of that, and let the reynés gone Till both air and Earthé brend, I am the daughter of earth and water, And the nursling of the sky; I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores; I change, but I cannot die. For after the rain, when with never a stain, The pavilion of heaven is bare, And the winds and sunbeams, with their convex gleams, Build up the blue dome of air, I silently laugh at my own cenotaph, And out of the caverns of rain, Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb, I arise and unbuild it again. SHELLEY. A DROP OF DEW. SEE how the orient dew, (Yet careless of its mansion new, For the clear region where 'twas born,) Round in itself encloses And, in its little globe's extent, Frames, as it can, its native element. How it the purple flower does slight, Scarce touching where it lies, But gazing back upon the skies, Shines with a mournful light, Like its own tear, Because so long divided from the sphere. Restless it rolls, and insecure, Trembling, lest it grow impure; Till the warm sun pities its pain, And to the skies exhales it back again. So the soul, that drop, that ray, Of the clear fountain of eternal day, Could it within the human flower be seen, Remembering still its former height, Shuns the sweet leaves, and blossoms green, And, recollecting its own light, Does, in its pure and circling thoughts, express The greater heaven in a heaven less. WOOF of the fen, ethereal gauze, Toil of the day displayed, sun-dust, From heath or stubble rising without song, Establish thy serenity o'er the fields. THOREAU. AT SEA. THE night is made for cooling shade, For silence, and for sleep; And when I was a child, I laid Each movement of the swaying lamp With every shock she feels. It starts and shudders, while it burns, And in its hingèd socket turns. Now swinging slow and slanting low, And yet I know, while to and fro With restless fall and rise, O hand of God! O lamp of peace! Amid the roar of smiting seas, The ship's convulsive roll, I own with love and tender awe A heavenly trust my spirit calms, Happy as if to-night Under the cottage roof again I heard the soothing summer rain. |