GRAND IS THE SEEN

Grand is the seen, the light, to me

--

grand are the sky

and stars, Grand is the earth, and grand are lasting time and space, And grand their laws, so multiform, puzzling, evolutionary;

But grander far the unseen soul of me, comprehending, endowing all those,

Lighting the light, the sky and stars, delving the earth, sailing the sea,

(What were all those, indeed, without thee, unseen soul? of what amount without thee?)

More evolutionary, vast, puzzling, O my soul!
More multiform far more lasting thou than they.

GOOD-BYE MY FANCY

Good-bye my Fancy!

Farewell dear mate, dear love!

I'm going away, I know not where,

Or to what fortune, or whether I may ever see you again,
So Good-bye my Fancy.

Now for my last let me look back a moment;
The slower fainter ticking of the clock is in me,
Exit, nightfall, and soon the heart-thud stopping.

Long have we lived, joy'd, caress'd together;
Delightful! now separation-Good-bye my Fancy.
Yet let me not be too hasty,

Long indeed have we lived, slept, filter'd, become really blended into one;

Then if we die we die together, (yes, we'll remain one,)
If we go anywhere we'll go together to meet what happens,
May-be we'll be better off and blither, and learn something,
May-be it is yourself now really ushering me to the true
songs, (who knows?)

May-be it is you the mortal knob really undoing, turning — so now finally,

Good-bye and hail! my Fancy.

OLD AGE ECHOES

DEATH'S VALLEY

To accompany a picture, "The Valley of the Shadow of Death," from the painting by George Inness.

Nay, do not dream, designer dark,

Thou hast portray'd or hit thy theme entire;

I, hoverer of late by this dark valley, by its confines, having glimpses of it,

Here enter lists with thee, claiming my right to make a

symbol too.

For I have seen many After dread suffering smiles ;

wounded soldiers die,

have seen their lives pass off with

And I have watch'd the death-hours of the old; and seen the infant die;

The rich, with all his nurses and his doctors;

And then the poor, in meagreness and poverty;

And I myself for long, O Death, have breath'd my every breath

Amid the nearness and the silent thought of thee.

And out of these and thee,

I make a scene, a song (not fear of thee,

Nor gloom's ravines, nor bleak, nor dark for I do not fear thee,

Nor celebrate the struggle, or contortion, or hard-tied knot),

Of the broad blessed light and perfect air, with meadows, rippling tides, and trees and flowers and grass,

And the low hum of living breeze—and in the midst God's beautiful eternal right hand,

Thee, holiest minister of Heaven-thee, envoy, usherer, guide at last of all,

Rich, florid, loosener of the stricture-knot call'd life,
Sweet, peaceful, welcome Death.