Whose shifting sides are tufted with dull herbs,
  Drooping above a brook, that sluggish creeps
  Down to the whispering rushes in the marsh. 
  And this is all, until I reach the cliff,
  And on the headland’s verge I stand, enthralled
  Before the gulf of the unquenchable sea—­
  The sea, inexorable in its might,
  Circling the pebbly beach with limpid tides,
  Storming in bays whose margins fade in mist;
  Now blue and silent as a noonday sky,
  At twilight now the pearly rollers shake
  The sunset’s trail of violet and gold;
  Or black, when rushing on the rocky isles
  Anchored in waves that bellow to the winds. 
  I watch till comes the night; the moonlight falls,
  The silvery deep on some far journey goes,
  To solve for me, I think, this mystery.

AS ONE.

  When I, enclosed within the city’s walls,
  Behold the multitudes that come and go,
  Hands clenched on gain, and nature all denied,
      Then I recall, recall the drift of time.

  But when she proffered all her wealth to me,
  The first faint blossom of the spring I share,
  The latest autumn leaf, the last green blade,
      Then I forget, forget the drift of time.

  The months go by, and take me in their train,
  The vesture wrapping them enfolds me too,
  And all the journey through we seem as one,
      And I forget, forget the drift of time.

  I hear the bluebird’s call in windy dawns,
  The robin’s cheery note from dewy fields,
  The swallow’s cry along the pool at eve,
      And I forget, forget the drift of time.

  When hedges give the prophecy of birds,
  And sunbeams play on the expectant boughs,
  The leaves uncurl and fill their veins with life,
      And I forget, forget the drift of time.

  I watch a tumult in the summer skies,
  A blur of sunshine, and the rush of rain,
  The tempest dying in the twilight’s hush,
      And I forget, forget the drift of time.

  When winter woods are armored by the frost,
  And all the highways filled with soundless snows,
  Then comes the sun to show his golden palm,
      And I forget, forget the drift of time.

  The mountains look upon me and the sea—­
  I hover on their crests in silver mists,
  And with the waters pass beyond their verge,
      And I forget, forget the drift of time.

THE VISITINGS OF TRUTH KNOWN ELSEWHERE.

  Spending abroad these varied autumn days,
  Their melancholy legend I deny. 
  They keep a vanished treasure I will seek,
  And follow on a track of mystic hopes. 
  While watching in thy atmosphere, I see
  The form of beauty changes, not its soul. 
  When with the Spring, the flying feet of youth
  Spurning the present as it passed, and me,