I dream that in her deeply-hidden heart

Hurt love lived on, though we were far apart,

A brooding secret mercy like your own

That blooms to-day to vindicate your throne.

The Traveller-heart

(To a Man who maintained that the Mausoleum is the Stateliest Possible

Manner of Interment)

I would be one with the dark, dark earth:--

Follow the plough with a yokel tread.

I would be part of the Indian corn,

Walking the rows with the plumes o'erhead.

I would be one with the lavish earth,

Eating the bee-stung apples red:

Walking where lambs walk on the hills;

By oak-grove paths to the pools be led.

I would be one with the dark-bright night

When sparkling skies and the lightning wed--

Walking on with the vicious wind

By roads whence even the dogs have fled.

I would be one with the sacred earth

On to the end, till I sleep with the dead.

Terror shall put no spears through me.

Peace shall jewel my shroud instead.

I shall be one with all pit-black things

Finding their lowering threat unsaid:

Stars for my pillow there in the gloom,--

Oak-roots arching about my head!

Stars, like daisies, shall rise through the earth,

Acorns fall round my breast that bled.

Children shall weave there a flowery chain,

Squirrels on acorn-hearts be fed:--

Fruit of the traveller-heart of me,

Fruit of my harvest-songs long sped:

Sweet with the life of my sunburned days

When the sheaves were ripe, and the apples red.

The North Star Whispers to the Blacksmith's Son

The North Star whispers: "You are one

Of those whose course no chance can change.

You blunder, but are not undone,

Your spirit-task is fixed and strange.

"When here you walk, a bloodless shade,

A singer all men else forget.

Your chants of hammer, forge and spade

Will move the prairie-village yet.

"That young, stiff-necked, reviling town

Beholds your fancies on her walls,

And paints them out or tears them down,

Or bars them from her feasting-halls.

"Yet shall the fragments still remain;

Yet shall remain some watch-tower strong

That ivy-vines will not disdain,

Haunted and trembling with your song.

"Your flambeau in the dusk shall burn,

Flame high in storms, flame white and clear;

Your ghost in gleaming robes return

And burn a deathless incense here."

Third Section ~~ A Miscellany called "the Christmas Tree"

This Section is a Christmas Tree

This section is a Christmas tree:

Loaded with pretty toys for you.

Behold the blocks, the Noah's arks,

The popguns painted red and blue.

No solemn pine-cone forest-fruit,

But silver horns and candy sacks

And many little tinsel hearts

And cherubs pink, and jumping-jacks.

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