O loveliest face, on which we look our last -
Not without hope we may again behold
Somewhere, somehow, when we ourselves have passed
Where, Lucy, you have gone, this face so dear,
That gathered beauty every changing year,
And made Youth dream of some day being old.

Some knew the girl, and some the woman grown,
And each was fair, but always 'twas your way
To be more beautiful than yesterday,
To win where others lose; and Time, the doom
Of other faces, brought to yours new bloom.
Now, even from Death you snatch mysterious grace,
This last perfection for your lovely face.

So with your spirit was it day by day,
That spirit unextinguishably gay,
That to the very border of the shade
Laughed on the muttering darkness unafraid.
We shall be lonely for ...

I strove with none, for none was worth my strife.
Nature I loved and, next to Nature, Art:
I warm’d both hands before the fire of life;
It sinks, and I am ready to depart.

Intent on gathering wool from hedge and brake
Yon busy Little-ones rejoice that soon
A poor old Dame will bless them for the boon:
Great is their glee while flake they add to flake
With rival earnestness; far other strife
Than will hereafter move them, if they make
Pastime their idol, give their day of life
To pleasure snatched for reckless pleasure's sake.
Can pomp and show allay one heart-born grief?
Pains which the World inflicts can she requite?
Not for an interval however brief;
The silent thoughts that search for steadfast light,
Love from her depths, and Duty in her might,
And Faith, these only yield secure relief.

O ships upon the sea, O shapes of air,
O lands whose names are made of spice and tar,
Old painted empires that are ever fair,
From Cochin-China down to Zanzibar!
O Beauty simple, soul-less, and bizarre!
I would take Danger for my bosom-wife,
And light our bed with some wild tropic star -
O how I long to run away with Life!

To run together, Life and I! What care
Ours if from Duty we may run so far
As to forget the daily mounting stair,
The roaring subway and the clanging car,
The stock that ne'er again shall be at par,
The silly speed, the city's stink and strife,
The faces that to look on leaves a scar:
O how I long to run away with Life!

Fling up the sail - all sail that she can bear,
And out across the little frightened bar
Into the fea...

Just two-and-forty years have passed[5]
Since we, a youthful pair,
Together at the altar stood,
And mutual vows pledged there.

Our lives have been a checkered scene,
Since that midsummer's eve;
Much good received our hearts to cheer,
And much those hearts to grieve.

Children confided to our care,
Hath God in kindness given,
Of whom five still on earth remain,
And two, we trust, in heaven.

How many friends of early days,
Have fallen by our side;
Shook by some blast, like autumn leaves
They withered, drooped, and died.

But still permitted, hand in hand
Our journey we pursue;
And when we're weary, cheered by glimpse
Of "better land" in view.

We may not hope in this low world,
Much longer to remain,
But o...

A wearied pilgrim I have wander'd here,
Twice five-and-twenty, bate me but one year;
Long I have lasted in this world; 'tis true
But yet those years that I have lived, but few.
Who by his gray hairs doth his lustres tell,
Lives not those years, but he that lives them well:
One man has reach'd his sixty years, but he
Of all those three-score has not lived half three:
He lives who lives to virtue; men who cast
Their ends for pleasure, do not live, but last.

I touch but the things which are near;
    The heavens are too high for my reach:
        In shadow and symbol and creed,
        I discern not the soul from the deed,
    Nor the thought hidden under, from speech;
And the thing which I know not I fear.

I dare not despair nor despond,
    Though I grope in the dark for the dawn:
        Birth and laughter, and bubbles of breath,
        And tears, and the blank void of death,
    Round each its penumbra is drawn,--
I touch them,--I see not beyond.

What voice speaking solemn and slow,
    Before the beginning for me,
        From the mouth of the primal First Cause,
        Shall teach me the thing that I was,
    Shall point out the thing I shall be,
And show me the path that I go?

...

Dear nymph of a feeling, and delicate mind!
Whose eye the rash tears of timidity blind,
When fancy alarm'd takes a heart-chilling hue,
And the prospect of life is all dark in thy view,
Let me, as thy monitor, mild and sincere,
To thy spirit the gift of existence endear!
And shew thee, if darkened by fear or chagrin,
The sunshine of friendship can gild every scene!
Those, who true to the Ruler of every hour,
Rely on his mercy, and trust in his power;

Whatso'er is their lot, may, by viewing it right,
Convert all its darkness to visions of light
When mortals of hope the fair presage assume,
Even death's sable pall is no object of gloom:
They smile on the path which their best friends have trod,
And rejoice, when they feel, they are summon'd to God.
Be it lo...

There is no thing we cannot overcome
    Say not thy evil instinct is inherited,
Or that some trait inborn makes thy whole life forlorn,
    And calls down punishment that is not merited.

Back of thy parents and grandparents lies
    The Great Eternal Will.    That, too, is thine
    Inheritance; strong, beautiful, divine,
Sure lever of success for one who tries.

Pry up thy faults with this great lever, Will.
    However deeply bedded in propensity,
However firmly set, I tell thee firmer yet
    Is that vast power that comes from Truth's immensity.

Thou art a part of that strange world, I say.
    Its forces lie within thee, stronger far
    Than all thy mortal sins and frailties are,
Believe thyself divine, and watch, and pray.

There i...