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And so my passion hath not swerved
Likewise the imaginative woe,
That loved to handle spiritual strife, Diffused the shock through all my life But in the present broke the blow.
My pulses therefore beat again
For other friends that once I met;
The mighty hopes that make us men.
I woo your love: I count it crime
A friendship as had mastered Time;
Which masters Time indeed, and is
But Summer on the steaming floods,
And Spring that swells the narrow brooks
That gather in the waning woods,
And every pulse of wind and wave
Recalls, in change of light or gloom,
My old affection of the tomb,
A part of stillness yearns to speak: "Arise, and get thee forth and seek A friendship for the years to come.
"I watch thee from the quiet shore;
And I, "Can clouds of nature stain
And lightly does the whisper fall:
And that serene result of all."
So hold I commerce with the dead;
And pining life be fancy-fed.
Now looking to some settled end,
That these things pass, and I shall prove
I crave your pardon, oh my friend;
If not so fresh, with love as true,
I, clasping brother-hands, aver I could not, if I would, transfer The whole I felt for him to you.
For which be they that hold apart
The promise of the golden hours ?
First love, first friendship, equal powers,
That marry with the virgin heart.
Still mine that cannot but deplore,
My heart, though widowed, may not rest
Ah! take the imperfect gift I bring,
SWEET after showers, ambrosial air,
The round of space, and rapt below
Through all the dewy-tasselled wood,
In ripples, fan my brows and blow
The fever from my cheek, and sigh
The full new life that feeds thy breath
Ill brethren, let the fancy fly
From belt to belt of crimson seas,
On leagues of odor streaming far, To where, in yonder orient star, A hundred spirits whisper "Peace."
I PASSED beside the reverend walls
In which of old I wore the gown;
And heard once more in college fanes
And caught once more the distant shout,
The same gray flats again, and felt
The same, but not the same; and last, Up that long walk of limes I passed, To see the rooms in which he dwelt.
Another name was on the door:
I lingered; all within was noise
Of songs, and clapping hands, and boys That crashed the glass and beat the floor;
Where once we held debate, a band
Of youthful friends, on mind and art, And labor, and the changing mart, And all the framework of the land;
When one would aim an arrow fair,
But send it slackly from the string; And one would pierce an outer ring, And one an inner, here and there;
And last, the master-bowman, he
Would cleave the mark. A willing ear
The rapt oration flowing free
From point to point with power and grace, And music in the bounds of law,
To those conclusions when we saw The God within him light his face,
And seem to lift the form, and glow
WILD bird, whose warble, liquid sweet,
Whence radiate: fierce extremes employ
Thy passion clasps a secret joy:
And I,-my harp would prelude woe,—
WITCH-ELMS, that counterchange the floor
Of foliage, towering sycamore:
How often, hither wandering down,
My Arthur found your shadows fair,
The dust and din and steam of town!
He brought an eye for all he saw;
He mixed in all our simple sports;
They pleased him, fresh from brawling courts
And dusky purlieus of the law.