Flash and loom greatly all your marts among?"

Friends, I will not cease hoping though you weep.

Such things I see, and some of them shall come

Though now our streets are harsh and ashen-gray,

Though our strong youths are strident now, or dumb.

Friends, that sweet town, that wonder-town, shall rise.

Naught can delay it. Though it may not be

Just as I dream, it comes at last I know

With streets like channels of an incense-sea.

The Alchemist's Petition

Thou wilt not sentence to eternal life

My soul that prays that it may sleep and sleep

Like a white statue dropped into the deep,

Covered with sand, covered with chests of gold,

And slave-bones, tossed from many a pirate hold.

But for this prayer thou wilt not bind in Hell

My soul, that shook with love for Fame and Truth --

In such unquenched desires consumed his youth --

Let me turn dust, like dead leaves in the Fall,

Or wood that lights an hour your knightly hall --


Two Easter Stanzas


The Hope of the Resurrection

Though I have watched so many mourners weep

O'er the real dead, in dull earth laid asleep --

Those dead seemed but the shadows of my days

That passed and left me in the sun's bright rays.

Now though you go on smiling in the sun

Our love is slain, and love and you were one.

You are the first, you I have known so long,

Whose death was deadly, a tremendous wrong.

Therefore I seek the faith that sets it right

Amid the lilies and the candle-light.

I think on Heaven, for in that air so clear

We two may meet, confused and parted here.

Ah, when man's dearest dies, 'tis then he goes

To that old balm that heals the centuries' woes.

Then Christ's wild cry in all the streets is rife: --

"I am the Resurrection and the Life."


We meet at the Judgment and I fear it Not

Though better men may fear that trumpet's warning,

I meet you, lady, on the Judgment morning,

With golden hope my spirit still adorning.

Our God who made you all so fair and sweet

Is three times gentle, and before his feet

Rejoicing I shall say: -- "The girl you gave

Was my first Heaven, an angel bent to save.

Oh, God, her maker, if my ingrate breath

Is worth this rescue from the Second Death,

Perhaps her dear proud eyes grow gentler too

That scorned my graceless years and trophies few.

Gone are those years, and gone ill-deeds that turned

Her sacred beauty from my songs that burned.

We now as comrades through the stars may take

The rich and arduous quests I did forsake.

Grant me a seraph-guide to thread the throng

And quickly find that woman-soul so strong.

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.

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