As kindled Titian when his life began;
Would that this latter Greek could put his gold,

Wisdom and splendor in our brushes bold
Till Greece and Venice, children of the sun,

Become our every-day, and we aspire
To colors fairer far, and glories higher.

Lincoln
Would I might rouse the Lincoln in you all,

That which is gendered in the wilderness
From lonely prairies and God's tenderness.

Imperial soul, star of a weedy stream,
Born where the ghosts of buffaloes still dream,

Whose spirit hoof-beats storm above his grave,
Above that breast of earth and prairie-fire --

Fire that freed the slave.
The Cornfields

The cornfields rise above mankind,
Lifting white torches to the blue,

Each season not ashamed to be
Magnificently decked for you.

What right have you to call them yours,
And in brute lust of riches burn

Without some radiantpenance wrought,
Some beautiful, devout return?

Sweet Briars of the Stairways
We are happy all the time

Even when we fight:
Sweet briars of the stairways,

Gay fairies of the grime;
WE, WHO ARE PLAYING TO-NIGHT.

"Our feet are in the gutters,
Our eyes are sore with dust,

But still our eyes are bright.
The wide street roars and mutters --

We know it works because it must --
WE, WHO ARE PLAYING TO-NIGHT!

"Dirt is everlasting. -- We never, never fear it.
Toil is never ceasing. -- We will play until we near it.

Tears are never ending. -- When once real tears have come;
"When we see our people as they are --

Our fathers -- broken, dumb --
Our mothers -- broken, dumb --

The weariest of women and of men;
Ah -- then our eyes will lose their light --

Then we will never play again --
WE, WHO ARE PLAYING TO-NIGHT."

Fantasies and Whims: --
The Fairy Bridal Hymn

[This is the hymn to Eleanor, daughter of Mab and a golden drone,
sung by the Locust choir when the fairy child marries her God,

the yellow rose]
This is a song to the white-armed one

Cold in the breast as the frost-wrapped Spring,
Whose feet are slow on the hills of life,

Whose round mouth rules by whispering.
This is a song to the white-armed one

Whose breast shall burn as a Summer field,
Whose wings shall rise to the doors of gold,

Whose poppy lips to the God shall yield.
This is a song to the white-armed one

When the closing rose shall bind her fast,
And a song of the song their blood shall sing,

When the Rose-God drinks her soul at last.
The Potato's Dance

"Down cellar," said the cricket,
"I saw a ball last night

In honor of a lady
Whose wings were pearly-white.

The breath of bitter weather
Had smashed the cellar pane:

We entertained a drift of leaves
And then of snow and rain.

But we were dressed for winter,
And loved to hear it blow

In honor of the lady
Who makes potatoes grow --

Our guest, the Irish lady,
The tiny Irish lady,

The fairy Irish lady
That makes potatoes grow.

"Potatoes were the waiters,
Potatoes were the band,

Potatoes were the dancers
Kicking up the sand:

Their legs were old burnt matches,
Their arms were just the same,

They jigged and whirled and scrambled
In honor of the dame:

The noble Irish lady
Who makes potatoes dance,

The witty Irish lady,
The saucy Irish lady,

The laughing Irish lady
Who makes potatoes prance.

"There was just one sweet potato.
He was golden-brown and slim:

The lady loved his figure.
She danced all night with him.

Alas, he wasn't Irish.
So when she flew away,

They threw him in the coal-bin
And there he is to-day,

Where they cannot hear his sighs --
His weeping for the lady,

The beauteous Irish lady,
The radiant Irish lady

Who gives potatoes eyes."
How a Little Girl Sang

Ah, she was music in herself,
A symphony of joyousness.

She sang, she sang from finger tips,
From every tremble of her dress.

I saw sweet haunting harmony,
An ecstasy, an ecstasy,

In that strange curling of her lips,
That happy curling of her lips.

And quivering with melody
Those eyes I saw, that tossing head.

And so I saw what music was,
Tho' still accursed with ears of lead.

Ghosts in Love
"Tell me, where do ghosts in love

Find their bridal veils?"
"If you and I were ghosts in love

We'd climb the cliffs of Mystery,
Above the sea of Wails.

I'd trim your gray and streaming hair
With veils of Fantasy

From the tree of Memory.
'Tis there the ghosts that fall in love

Find their bridal veils."
The Queen of Bubbles

[Written for a picture]
The Youth speaks: --

"Why do you seek the sun
In your bubble-crown ascending?

Your chariot will melt to mist.
Your crown will have an ending."

The Goddess replies: --
"Nay, sun is but a bubble,

Earth is a whiff of foam --
To my caves on the coast of Thule

Each night I call them home.
Thence Faiths blow forth to angels

And loves blow forth to men --
They break and turn to nothing

And I make them whole again.
On the crested waves of chaos

I ride them back reborn:
New stars I bring at evening

For those that burst at morn:
My soul is the wind of Thule

And evening is the sign --
The sun is but a bubble,

A fragile child of mine."
The Tree of Laughing Bells, or The Wings of the Morning

[A Poem for Aviators]
How the Wings Were Made

From many morning-glories
That in an hour will fade,

From many pansy buds
Gathered in the shade,

From lily of the valley
And dandelion buds,

From fiery poppy-buds
Are the Wings of the Morning made.

The Indian Girl Who Made Them
These, the Wings of the Morning,

An Indian Maiden wove,
Intertwining subtilely

Wands from a willow grove
Beside the Sangamon --

Rude stream of Dreamland Town.
She bound them to my shoulders

With fingers golden-brown.
The wings were part of me;

The willow-wands were hot.
Pulses from my heart

Healed each bruise and spot
Of the morning-glory buds,

Beginning to unfold
Beneath her burning song of suns untold.

The Indian Girl Tells the Hero Where to Go to Get the Laughing Bell
"To the farthest star of all,

Go, make a moment's raid.
To the west -- escape the earth

Before your pennons fade!
West! west! o'ertake the night

That flees the morning sun.
There's a path between the stars --

A black and silent one.
O tremble when you near

The smallest star that sings:
Only the farthest star

Is cool for willow wings.
"There's a sky within the west --

There's a sky beyond the skies
Where only one star shines --

The Star of Laughing Bells --
In Chaos-land it lies;

Cold as morning-dew,

• splendor [´splendə] n.壮丽 =splendour (初中英语单词)
• greece [gri:s] n.希腊 (初中英语单词)
• lonely [´ləunli] a.孤独的；无人烟的 (初中英语单词)
• ashamed [ə´ʃeimd] a.惭愧；不好意思 (初中英语单词)
• riches [´ritʃiz] n.房地产；丰富 (初中英语单词)
• breath [breθ] n.呼吸；气息 (初中英语单词)
• cellar [´selə] n.地窑，地下室 (初中英语单词)
• goddess [´gɔdis] n.女神 (初中英语单词)
• indian [´indiən] a.印度的 n.印度人 (初中英语单词)
• maiden [´meidn] n.少女 a.未婚的 (初中英语单词)
• willow [´wiləu] n.柳树 (初中英语单词)
• stream [stri:m] n.河 vi.流出；飘扬 (初中英语单词)
• venice [´venis] n.威尼斯 (高中英语单词)
• radiant [´reidiənt] a.发光的 n.光源(体) (高中英语单词)
• everlasting [,evə´lɑ:stiŋ] a.永久的，无尽的 (高中英语单词)
• ending [´endiŋ] n.结尾，结局 (高中英语单词)
• ecstasy [´ekstəsi] n.狂喜；出神，入迷 (高中英语单词)
• chariot [´tʃæriət] n.古时双轮战车 (高中英语单词)
• bruise [bru:z] n.伤痕 v.打(碰)伤 (高中英语单词)
• lincoln [´liŋkən] n.林肯 (英语四级单词)
• bridal [´braidl] a.&n.婚礼(的) (英语四级单词)
• locust [´ləukəst] n.蝗虫 (英语四级单词)
• symphony [´simfəni] n.交响乐(曲) (英语四级单词)
• accursed [ə´kə:sid] a.被诅咒的；可憎的 (英语四级单词)
• fragile [´frædʒail] a.易碎的；虚弱的 (英语四级单词)
• farthest [´fɑ:ðist] ad.&a.最远(的) (英语四级单词)
• penance [´penəns] n.悔过；(赎罪的)苦行 (英语六级单词)
• devout [di´vaut] a.虔诚的；热心的 (英语六级单词)
• weeping [´wi:piŋ] a.&n.哭泣(的) (英语六级单词)
• beauteous [´bju:tiəs] a.美的，美丽的 (英语六级单词)
• dandelion [´dændilaiən] n.蒲公英 (英语六级单词)