Renascence and Other Poems | Page 8

all I ask
Forever,
but forever, this denied,
I perish."
"Child," my father's voice replied,
"All things thy fancy hath desired
of me
Thou hast received. I have prepared for thee

Within my
house a spacious chamber, where
Are delicate things to handle and to
wear,
And all these things are thine. Dost thou love song?
My
minstrels shall attend thee all day long.
Or sigh for flowers? My
fairest gardens stand
Open as fields to thee on every hand.
And all
thy days this word shall hold the same:
No pleasure shalt thou lack

that thou shalt name.
But as for tasks --" he smiled, and shook his
head;
"Thou hadst thy task, and laidst it by", he said.
God's World
O world, I cannot hold thee close enough!
Thy winds, thy wide grey
skies!
Thy mists, that roll and rise!
Thy woods, this autumn day,
that ache and sag
And all but cry with colour! That gaunt crag
To
crush! To lift the lean of that black bluff!
World, World, I cannot get
thee close enough!
Long have I known a glory in it all,
But never knew I this;
Here such a passion is
As stretcheth me apart,
-- Lord, I do fear
Thou'st made the world too beautiful this year;

My soul is all but out of me, -- let fall
No burning leaf; prithee, let no
bird call.
Afternoon on a Hill
I will be the gladdest thing
Under the sun!
I will touch a hundred
flowers
And not pick one.
I will look at cliffs and clouds
With quiet eyes,
Watch the wind
bow down the grass,
And the grass rise.
And when lights begin to show
Up from the town,
I will mark
which must be mine,
And then start down!
Sorrow
Sorrow like a ceaseless rain
Beats upon my heart.
People twist and
scream in pain, --
Dawn will find them still again;
This has neither
wax nor wane,
Neither stop nor start.
People dress and go to town;
I sit in my chair.
All my thoughts are

slow and brown:
Standing up or sitting down
Little matters, or what
gown
Or what shoes I wear.
Tavern
I'll keep a little tavern
Below the high hill's crest,
Wherein all
grey-eyed people
May set them down and rest.
There shall be plates a-plenty,
And mugs to melt the chill
Of all the
grey-eyed people
Who happen up the hill.
There sound will sleep the traveller,
And dream his journey's end,

But I will rouse at midnight
The falling fire to tend.
Aye, 'tis a curious fancy --
But all the good I know
Was taught me
out of two grey eyes
A long time ago.
Ashes of Life
Love has gone and left me and the days are all alike;
Eat I must, and
sleep I will, -- and would that night were here! But ah! -- to lie awake
and hear the slow hours strike!
Would that it were day again! -- with
twilight near!
Love has gone and left me and I don't know what to do;
This or that
or what you will is all the same to me;
But all the things that I begin I
leave before I'm through, -- There's little use in anything as far as I can
see.
Love has gone and left me, -- and the neighbors knock and borrow,
And life goes on forever like the gnawing of a mouse, --
And
to-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow
There's this
little street and this little house.
The Little Ghost

I knew her for a little ghost
That in my garden walked;
The wall is
high -- higher than most --
And the green gate was locked.
And yet I did not think of that
Till after she was gone --
I knew her
by the broad white hat,
All ruffled, she had on.
By the dear ruffles round her feet,
By her small hands that hung
In
their lace mitts, austere and sweet,
Her gown's white folds among.
I watched to see if she would stay,
What she would do -- and oh!

She looked as if she liked the way
I let my garden grow!
She bent above my favourite mint
With conscious garden grace,

She smiled and smiled -- there was no hint
Of sadness in her face.
She held her gown on either side
To let her slippers show,
And up
the walk she went with pride,
The way great ladies go.
And where the wall is built in new
And is of ivy bare
She paused --
then opened and passed through
A gate that once was there.
Kin to Sorrow
Am I kin to Sorrow,
That so oft
Falls the knocker of my door --

Neither loud nor soft,
But as long accustomed,
Under Sorrow's
hand?
Marigolds around the step
And rosemary stand,
And then
comes Sorrow --
And what does Sorrow care
For the rosemary
Or
the marigolds there?
Am I kin to Sorrow?
Are we kin?
That so oft
upon my door --
*Oh, come in*!
Three Songs of Shattering
I
The first rose on my rose-tree
Budded, bloomed, and shattered,

During sad days when to me

Nothing mattered.
Grief of grief has drained me clean;
Still it seems a pity
No one saw,
-- it must have been
Very pretty.
II
Let the little birds sing;
Let the little lambs play;
Spring