comes stealing, stealing,
        Clear and low; 10
All thy smiles and all thy tears
  In thy voice awaken,
  And sweetness, wove of joy and woe,
    From their teaching it hath taken:
Feeling and music move together,
Like a swan and shadow ever
Floating on a sky-blue river
In a day of cloudless weather.

It hath caught a touch of sadness,
        Yet it is not sad; 20
It hath tones of clearest gladness,
        Yet it is not glad;
A dim, sweet twilight voice it is
  Where to-day's accustomed blue
Is over-grayed with memories,
  With starry feelings quivered through.

  Thy voice is like a fountain
Leaping up in sunshine bright,
  And I never weary counting
Its clear droppings, lone and single, 30
Or when in one full gush they mingle,
  Shooting in melodious light.

  Thine is music such as yields
  Feelings of old brooks and fields,
  And, around this pent-up room,
  Sheds a woodland, free perfume;
    Oh, thus forever sing to me!
        Oh, thus forever!
The green, bright grass of childhood bring to me, 39
  Flowing like an emerald river,
  And the bright blue skies above!
  Oh, sing them back, as fresh as ever,
  Into the bosom of my love,—
  The sunshine and the merriment,
  The unsought, evergreen content,
    Of that never cold time,
  The joy, that, like a clear breeze, went
    Through and through the old time!
  Peace sits within thine eyes,
  With white hands crossed in joyful rest, 50
While, through thy lips and face, arise
The melodies from out thy breast;
      She sits and sings,
      With folded wings
      And white arms crost,
  'Weep not for bygone things,
      They are not lost:
The beauty which the summer time
O'er thine opening spirit shed,
The forest oracles sublime 60
That filled thy soul with joyous dread,
The scent of every smallest flower
That made thy heart sweet for an hour,
Yea, every holy influence,
Flowing to thee, thou knewest not whence,
In thine eyes to-day is seen,
Fresh as it hath ever been;
Promptings of Nature, beckonings sweet,
Whatever led thy childish feet,
Still will linger unawares 70
The guiders of thy silver hairs;
Every look and every word
Which thou givest forth to-day,
Tell of the singing of the bird
Whose music stilled thy boyish play.'

Thy voice is like a fountain,
Twinkling up in sharp starlight,
When the moon behind the mountain
Dims the low East with faintest white,
      Ever darkling, 80
      Ever sparkling,
    We know not if 'tis dark or bright;
But, when the great moon hath rolled round,
  And, sudden-slow, its solemn power
Grows from behind its black, clear-edgèd bound,
  No spot of dark the fountain keepeth,
  But, swift as opening eyelids, leapeth
  Into a waving silver flower.

THE MOON

  My soul was like the sea.
  Before the moon was made,
Moaning in vague immensity,
  Of its own strength afraid,
  Unresful and unstaid.
Through every rift it foamed in vain,
  About its earthly prison,
Seeking some unknown thing in pain,
And sinking restless back again,
  For yet no moon had risen:
Its only voice a vast dumb moan,
  Of utterless anguish speaking,
It lay unhopefully alone,
  And lived but in an aimless seeking.

So was my soul; but when 'twas full
  Of unrest to o'erloading,
A voice of something beautiful
  Whispered a dim foreboding,
And yet so soft, so sweet, so low,
It had not more of joy than woe;

And, as the sea doth oft lie still,
  Making its waters meet,
As if by an unconscious will,
  For the moon's silver feet,
So lay my soul within mine eyes
When thou, its guardian moon, didst rise.

And now, howe'er its waves above
  May toss and seem uneaseful,
One strong, eternal law of Love,
  With guidance sure and peaceful,
As calm and natural as breath,
Moves its great deeps through life and death.

REMEMBERED MUSIC

A FRAGMENT

Thick-rushing, like an ocean vast
  Of bisons the far prairie shaking,
The notes crowd heavily and fast
As surfs, one plunging while the last
  Draws seaward from its foamy breaking.

Or in low murmurs they began,
  Rising and rising momently,
As o'er a harp Æolian
A fitful breeze, until they ran
  Up to a sudden ecstasy.

And then, like minute-drops of rain
  Ringing in water silvery,
They lingering dropped and dropped again,
Till it was almost like a pain
  To listen when the next would be.

SONG

TO M.L.

A lily thou wast when I saw thee first,
  A lily-bud not opened quite,
  That hourly grew more pure and white,
By morning, and noontide, and evening nursed:
  In all of nature thou hadst thy share;
    Thou wast waited on
    By the wind and sun;
  The rain and the dew for thee took care;
  It seemed thou never couldst be more fair.

A lily thou wast when I saw thee first,
  A lily-bud; but oh, how strange,
  How full of wonder was the change,
When, ripe with all sweetness, thy full bloom burst!
  How did the tears to my glad eyes start,
    When the woman-flower
    Reached its blossoming hour,
And I saw the warm deeps of thy golden heart!

Glad death may pluck thee, but never before
  The gold dust of thy bloom divine
  Hath dropped from thy heart into mine,
To quicken its faint germs of heavenly lore;
For no breeze comes nigh thee but carries away
    Some impulses bright
    Of fragrance and light,
Which fall upon souls that are lone and astray,
To plant fruitful hopes of the flower of day.

ALLEGRA

I would more natures were like thine,
  That never casts a glance before,
Thou Hebe, who thy heart's bright wine
  So lavishly to all dost pour,
That we who drink forget to pine,
  And can but dream of bliss in store.

Thou canst not see a shade in life;
  With sunward instinct thou dost rise,
And, leaving clouds below at strife,
  Gazest undazzled at the skies,
With all their blazing splendors rife,
  A songful lark with eagle's eyes.

Thou wast some foundling whom the Hours
  Nursed, laughing, with the milk of Mirth;
Some influence more gay than ours
  Hath ruled thy nature from its birth,
As if thy natal stars were flowers
  That shook their seeds round thee on earth.

And thou, to lull thine infant rest,
  Wast cradled like an Indian child;
All pleasant winds from south and west
  With lullabies thine ears beguiled,
Rocking thee in thine oriole's nest,
  Till Nature looked at thee and smiled.