ained to this cursed clay,
Galled by its fetters of flesh, seared with a thousand scars,
Shriek and struggle and beat its breast on its prison bars
Thro' the night's long dark of despair till the dawning of ultimate day,
Till the glow of that ultimate dawn transfigure the tortured face
And the sacred fire within crumble the coarse clay clod.
Till the Soul, breathed on by an unseen, unknown Grace,
Stripped of its bonds of flesh, stand face to face with its God!

To a Singer

Beneath thy Midas touch life's sullen grays
Are thrilled to sudden gold; as some far gleam
From wings of Helios athwart thy dream
Irradiates for thee earth's darksome ways.
Wild woodland voices ripple thro' thy lays;
Sweet silvern murmurs from some deep-delled spring,
Brook, tree and flower and each insensate thing,
The throstle's call, the calm of sun-steeped days,
A glint of sunshine on the swallow's wing,
Fern-filagrees, the drowsy drone of bee
Made drunk with draughts of purple wild-grape wine;
All these Orphean music holds for thee,
And all thy days and dreams companioning
Walks Nature with her hand close-clasped in thine.

Blossom of Brine

Morn! and a white sail winging
Over the sunlit waves;
A song on the breezes ringing
Up from the coral caves
Where sea-nymphs, white arms lifting
Wreaths for the sea-god twine
Of the frail foam-flowers drifting
On the wave-crests--blossom of brine.

Night! and a dark rack flying
Over the sullen waves;
A dirge on the night winds sighing
Up from the cold sea caves
Where sea-nymphs white arms lifting
Wreaths for a pall entwine
For a still white face is drifting
On the wave-crest--blossom of brine.

A Memory

Strange that across the vast of varied years,
Fraught with life's wonted alloy--mingled joy and pain--
Sun-kissed with smiles or gloomed with mists of tears,
Old memories should wake to life again.
Old thoughts and dreams, words breathed by lips long dumb,
Songs sung by voices silent now for aye,
Like hosts of speechless spectres thronging come
Dim formless wraiths of each dear vanished day.

Strange that a fragment of a life replete,
A few brief hours as men measure time,
A chapter in life's book, closed now--yet vaguely sweet
As odor-laden zephyrs from some far-off clime--
Should drift across my heart while joysome memories rise
Of golden moments snatched from Arcady,
Of silver sails and opal-tinted skies,
Of viridescent earth and sapphire