Part 6 (2/2)

Brave racer, who hast sped the living light With throat outstretched and every nerve a-strain, Now on thy left hand labors gray-faced Pain, And Death hangs close behind thee on the right.

Soon flag the flying feet, soon fails the sight, With every pulse the gaunt pursuers gain; And all thy splendor of strong life must wane And set into the mystery of night.

Yet fear not, though in falling, blindness hide Whose hand shall s.n.a.t.c.h, before it scars the sod, The light thy lessening grasp no more controls: Truth's rescuer, Truth shall instantly provide: This is the torch-race game, that n.o.blest souls Play on through time beneath the eyes of G.o.d.

TO SLEEP

All slumb'rous images that be, combined, To this white couch and cool shall woo thee, Sleep!

First will I think on fields of gra.s.ses deep In gray-green flower, o'er which the transient wind Runs like a smile; and next will call to mind How glistening poplar-tops, when breezes creep Among their leaves, a tender motion keep, Stroking the sky, like touch of lovers kind.

Ah, having felt thy calm kiss on mine eyes, All night inspiring thy divine pure breath, I shall awake as into G.o.dhood born, And with a fresh, undaunted soul arise, Clear as the blue convolvulus at morn.

--Dear bedfellow, deals thus thy brother, Death?

SISTER SNOW

Praised be our Lord (to echo the sweet phrase Of saintly Francis) for our sister Snow: Whose soft, soft coming never man may know By any sound; whose down-light touch allays All fevers of worn earth. She clothes the days In garments without spot, and hence doth go Her noiseless shuttle swiftly to and fro, And very pure, and pleasant, are her ways.

But yesterday, how loveless looked the skies!

How cold the sun's last glance, and unbenign, Across the field forsaken, russet-leaved!

Now pearly peace on all the landscape lies.

--Wast thou not sent us, Sister, for a sign Of that vast Mercy of G.o.d, else unconceived?

RETROSPECT

”Backward,” he said, ”dear heart I like to look To those half-spring, half-winter days, when first We drew together, ere the leaf-buds burst.

Sunbeams were silver yet, keen gusts yet shook The boughs. Have you remembered that kind book, That for our sake Galeotto's part rehea.r.s.ed, (The friend of lovers,--this time blessed, not cursed!) And that best hour, when reading we forsook?”

She, listening, wore the smile a mother wears At childish fancies needless to control; Yet felt a fine, hid pain with pleasure blend.

Better it seemed to think that love of theirs, Native as breath, eternal as the soul, Knew no beginning, could not have an end.

THE CONTRAST

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