Ᏼ Ꭱ Ꭺ Ꮋ Ꮇ Ꭺ . Ir the red slayer think he slays, Far or forgot to me is near; Shadow and sunlight are the same; They reckon ill who leave me out; When me they fly, I am the wings; I am the doubter and the doubt, And I the hymn the Brahmin sings. The strong gods pine for my abode, Find me, and turn thy back on heaven. ASTREA. EACH the herald is who wrote Each to all is venerable, Until he write, where all eyes rest, I saw men go up and down, Every wayfarer he meets What himself declared repeats, The form is his own corporal form, Yet shine forever virgin minds, To those who gaze from the sea's edge. It is there for benefit; It is there for purging light; ETIENNE DE LA BOECE. I SERVE you not, if you I follow, The manhood that should yours resist, In severe or cordial mood, Lead you rightly to my altar, Where the wisest Muses falter, And worship that world-warming spark Which dazzles me in midnight dark, Equalizing small and large, While the soul it doth surcharge, That the poor is wealthy grown, The traveller and the road seem one FORBEARANCE. HAST thou named all the birds without a gun? Loved the wood-rose, and left it on its stalk? At rich men's tables eaten bread and pulse? Unarmed, faced danger with a heart of trust? And loved so well a high behavior, In man or maid, that thou from speech refrained, Nobility more nobly to repay? O, be my friend, and teach me to be thine! |