O；　what　hadst　thou　to　do　with　cruel　Death；
  Who　wast　so　full　of　life；　or　Death　with　thee；
  That　thou　shouldst　die　before　thou　hadst　grown　old！
  III
  I　stand　again　on　the　familiar　shore；
  And　hear　the　waves　of　the　distracted　sea
  Piteously　calling　and　lamenting　thee；
  And　waiting　restless　at　thy　cottage　door。
  The　rocks；　the　sea…weed　on　the　ocean　floor；
  The　willows　in　the　meadow；　and　the　free
  Wild　winds　of　the　Atlantic　welcome　me；
  Then　why　shouldst　thou　be　dead；　and　come　no　more？
  Ah；　why　shouldst　thou　be　dead；　when　common　men
  Are　busy　with　their　trivial　affairs；
  Having　and　holding？　　Why；　when　thou　hadst　read
  Nature's　mysterious　manuscript；　and　then
  Wast　ready　to　reveal　the　truth　it　bears；
  Why　art　thou　silent！　　Why　shouldst　thou　be　dead？
  IV
  River；　that　stealest　with　such　silent　pace
  Around　the　City　of　the　Dead；　where　lies
  A　friend　who　bore　thy　name；　and　whom　these　eyes
  Shall　see　no　more　in　his　accustomed　place；
  Linger　and　fold　him　in　thy　soft　embrace
  And　say　good　night；　for　now　the　western　skies
  Are　red　with　sunset；　and　gray　mists　arise
  Like　damps　that　gather　on　a　dead　man's　face。
  Good　night！　good　night！　as　we　so　oft　have　said
  Beneath　this　roof　at　midnight　in　the　days
  That　are　no　more；　and　shall　no　more　return。
  Thou　hast　but　taken　thy　lamp　and　gone　to　bed；
  I　stay　a　little　longer；　as　one　stays
  To　cover　up　the　embers　that　still　burn。
  V
  The　doors　are　all　wide　open；　at　the　gate
  The　blossomed　lilacs　counterfeit　a　blaze；
  And　seem　to　warm　the　air；　a　dreamy　haze
  Hangs　o'er　the　Brighton　meadows　like　a　fate；
  And　on　their　margin；　with　sea…tides　elate；
  The　flooded　Charles；　as　in　the　happier　days；
  Writes　the　last　letter　of　his　name；　and　stays
  His　restless　steps；　as　if　compelled　to　wait。
  I　also　wait；　but　they　will　come　no　more；
  Those　friends　of　mine；　whose　presence　satisfied
  The　thirst　and　hunger　of　my　heart。　　Ah　me！
  They　have　forgotten　the　pathway　to　my　door！
  Something　is　gone　from　nature　since　they　died；
  And　summer　is　not　summer；　nor　can　be。
  CHAUCER
  An　old　man　in　a　lodge　within　a　park；
  The　chamber　walls　depicted　all　around
  With　portraitures　of　huntsman；　hawk；　and　hound。
  And　the　hurt　deer。　　He　listeneth　to　the　lark；
  Whose　song　comes　with　the　sunshine　through　the　dark
  Of　painted　glass　in　leaden　lattice　bound；
  He　listeneth　and　he　laugheth　at　the　sound；
  Then　writeth　in　a　book　like　any　clerk。
  He　is　the　poet　of　the　dawn；　who　wrote
  The　Canterbury　Tales；　and　his　old　age
  Made　beautiful　with　song；　and　as　I　read
  I　hear　the　crowing　cock；　I　hear　the　note
  Of　lark　and　linnet；　and　from　every　page
  Rise　odors　of　ploughed　field　or　flowery　mead。
  SHAKESPEARE
  A　vision　as　of　crowded　city　streets；
  With　human　life　in　endless　overflow；
  Thunder　of　thoroughfares；　trumpets　that　blow
  To　battle；　clamor；　in　obscure　retreats；
  Of　sailors　landed　from　their　anchored　fleets；
  Tolling　of　bells　in　turrets；　and　below
  Voices　of　children；　and　bright　flowers　that　throw
  O'er　garden…walls　their　intermingled　sweets！
  This　vision　comes　to　me　when　I　unfold
  The　volume　of　the　Poet　paramount；
  Whom　all　the　Muses　loved；　not　one　alone；
  Into　his　hands　they　put　the　lyre　of　gold；
  And；　crowned　with　sacred　laurel　at　their　fount；
  Placed　him　as　Musagetes　on　their　throne。
  MILTON
  I　pace　the　sounding　sea…beach　and　behold
  How　the　voluminous　billows　roll　and　run；
  Upheaving　and　subsiding；　while　the　sun
  Shines　through　their　sheeted　emerald　far　unrolled；
  And　the　ninth　wave；　slow　gathering　fold　by　fold
  All　its　loose…flowing　garments　into　one；
  Plunges　upon　the　shore；　and　floods　the　dun
  Pale　reach　of　sands；　and　changes　them　to　gold。
  So　in　majestic　cadence　rise　and　fall
  The　mighty　undulations　of　thy　song；
  O　sightless　bard；　England's　Maeonides！
  And　ever　and　anon；　high　over　all
  Uplifted；　a　ninth　wave　superb　and　strong；
  Floods　all　the　soul　with　its　melodious　seas。
  KEATS
  The　young　Endymion　sleeps　Endymion's　sleep；
  The　shepherd…boy　whose　tale　was　left　half　told！
  The　solemn　grove　uplifts　its　shield　of　gold
  To　the　red　rising　moon；　and　loud　and　deep
  The　nightingale　is　singing　from　the　steep；
  It　is　midsummer；　but　the　air　is　cold；
  Can　it　be　death？　　Alas；　beside　the　fold
  A　shepherd's　pipe　lies　shattered　near　his　sheep。
  Lo！　in　the　moonlight　gleams　a　marble　white；
  On　which　I　read：　〃Here　lieth　one　whose　name
  Was　writ　in　water。〃　　And　was　this　the　meed
  Of　his　sweet　singing？　　Rather　let　me　write：
  〃The　smoking　flax　before　it　burst　to　flame
  Was　quenched　by　death；　and　broken　the　bruised　reed。〃
  THE　GALAXY
  Torrent　of　light　and　river　of　the　air；
  Along　whose　bed　the　glimmering　stars　are　seen
  Like　gold　and　silver　sands　in　some　ravine
  Where　mountain　streams　have　left　their　channels　bare！
  The　Spaniard　sees　in　thee　the　pathway；　where
  His　patron　saint　descended　in　the　sheen
  Of　his　celestial　armor；　on　serene
  And　quiet　nights；　when　all　the　heavens　were　fair。
  Not　this　I　see；　nor　yet　the　ancient　fable
  Of　Phaeton's　wild　course；　that　scorched　the　skies
  Where'er　the　hoofs　of　his　hot　coursers　trod；
  But　the　white　drift　of　worlds　o'er　chasms　of　sable；
  The　star…dust　that　is　whirled　aloft　and　flies
  From　the　invisible　chariot…wheels　of　God。
  THE　SOUND　OF　THE　SEA
  The　sea　awoke　at　midnight　from　its　sleep；
  And　round　the　pebbly　beaches　far　and　wide
  I　heard　the　first　wave　of　the　rising　tide
  Rush　onward　with　uninterrupted　sweep；
  A　voice　out　of　the　silence　of　the　deep；
  A　sound　mysteriously　multiplied
  As　of　a　cataract　from　the　mountain's　side；
  Or　roar　of　winds　upon　a　wooded　steep。
  So　comes　to　us　at　times；　from　the　unknown
  And　inaccessible　solitudes　of　being；
  The　rushing　of　the　sea…tides　of　the　soul；
  And　inspirations；　that　we　deem　our　own；
  Are　some　divine　foreshadowing　and　foreseeing
  Of　things　beyond　our　reason　or　control。
  A　SUMMER　DAY　BY　THE　SEA
  The　sun　is　set；　and　in　his　latest　beams
  Yon　little　cloud　of　ashen　gray　and　gold；
  Slowly　upon　the　amber　air　unrolled；
  The　falling　mantle　of　the　Prophet　seems。
  From　the　dim　headlands　many　a　lighthouse　gleams；
  The　street…lamps　of　the　ocean；　and　behold；
  O'erhead　the　banners　of　the　night　unfold；
  The　day　hath　passed　into　the　land　of　dreams。
  O　summer　day　beside　the　joyous　sea！
  O　summer　day　so　wonderful　and　white；
  So　full　of　gladness　and　so　full　of　pain！
  Forever　and　forever　shalt　thou　be
  To　some　the　gravestone　of　a　dead　delight；
  To　some　the　landmark　of　a　new　domain。
  THE　TIDES
  I　saw　the　long　line　of　the　vacant　shore；
  The　sea…weed　and　the　shells　upon　the　sand；
  And　the　brown　rocks　left　bare　on　every　hand；
  As　if　the　ebbing　tide　would　flow　no　more。
  Then　heard　I；　more　distinctly　than　before；
  The　ocean　breathe　and　its　great　breast　expand；
  And　hurrying　came　on　the　defenceless　land
  The　insurgent　waters　with　tumultuous　roar。
  All　thought　and　feeling　and　desire；　I　said；
  Love；　laughter；　and　the　exultant　joy　of　song
  Have　ebbed　from　me　forever！　　Suddenly　o'er　me
  They　swept　again　from　their　deep　ocean　bed；
  And　in　a　tumult　of　delight；　and　strong
  As　youth；　and　beautiful　as　youth；　upbore　me。
  A　SHADOW
  I　said　unto　myself；　if　I　were　dead；
  What　would　befall　these　children？　　What　would　be
  Their　fate；　who　now　are　looking　up　to　me
  For　help　and　furtherance？　　Their　lives；　I　said；
  Would　be　a　volume　wherein　I　have　read
  But　the　first　chapters；　and　no　longer　see
  To　read　the　rest　of　their　dear　history；
  So　full　of　beauty　and　so　full　of　dread。
  Be　comforted；　the　world　is　very　old；
  And　generations　pass；　as　they　have　passed；
  A　troop　of　shadows　moving　with　the　sun；
  Thousands　of　times　has　the　old　tale　been　told；
  The　world　belongs　to　those　who　come　the　last；
  They　will　find　hope　and　strength　as　we　have　done。
  A　NAMELESS　GRAVE
  〃A　soldier　of　the　Union　mustered　out；〃
  Is　the　inscription　on　an　unknown　grave
  At　Newport　News；　beside　the　salt…sea　wave；
  Nameless　and　dateless；　sentinel　or　scout
  Shot　down　in　skirmish；　or　disastrous　rout
  Of　battle；　when　the　loud　artillery　drave
  Its　iron　wedges　through　the　ranks　of　brave
  And　doomed　battalions；　storming　the　redoubt。
  Thou　unknown　hero　sleeping　by　the　sea
  In　thy　forgotten　grave！　with　secret　shame
  I　feel　my　pulses　beat；　my　forehead　burn；
  When　I　remember　thou　hast　given　for　me
  All　that　thou　hadst；　thy　life；　thy　very　name；
  And　I　can　give　thee　nothing　in　return。
  SLEEP
  Lull　me　to　sleep；　ye　winds；　whose　fitful　sound
  Seems　from　some　faint　Aeolian　harp…string　caught；
  Seal　up　the　hundred　wakeful　eyes　of　thought
  As　Hermes　with　his　lyre　in　sleep　profound
  The　hundred　wakeful　eyes　of　Argus　bound；