From the intense, clear, star-sown vault of heaven,
Over the lit sea’s unquiet way,
In the rustling night-air came the answer:  15
“Wouldst thou be as these are? Live as they.

“Unaffrighted by the silence round them,
Undistracted by the sights they see,
These demand not that the things without them
Yield them love, amusement, sympathy. 20

“And with joy the stars perform their shining,
And the sea its long moon-silver’d roll;
For self-poised they live, nor pine with noting
All the fever of some differing soul.

“Bounded by themselves, and unregardful 25
In what state God’s other works may be,
In their own tasks all their powers pouring,
These attain the mighty life you see.”

O air-born voice! long since, severely clear,
A cry like thine in mine own heart I hear:  30
“Resolve to be thyself; and know that he,
Who finds himself, loses his misery!”

A SUMMER NIGHT

In the deserted, moon-blanch’d street,
How lonely rings the echo of my feet! 
Those windows, which I gaze at, frown,
Silent and white, unopening down,
Repellent as the world;—­but see, 5
A break between the housetops shows
The moon! and, lost behind her, fading dim
Into the dewy dark obscurity
Down at the far horizon’s rim,
Doth a whole tract of heaven disclose! 10

And to my mind the thought
Is on a sudden brought
Of a past night, and a far different scene. 
Headlands stood out into the moonlit deep
As clearly as at noon; 15
The spring-tide’s brimming flow
Heaved dazzlingly between;
Houses, with long white sweep,

Girdled the glistening bay;
Behind, through the soft air, 20
The blue haze-cradled mountains spread away,
The night was far more fair—­
But the same restless pacings to and fro,
And the same vainly throbbing heart was there,
And the same bright, calm moon. 25

And the calm moonlight seems to say: 
Hast thou then still the old unquiet breast,
Which neither deadens into rest,
Nor ever feels the fiery glow
That whirls the spirit from itself away, 30
But fluctuates to and fro,
Never by passion quite possess’d
And never quite benumb’d by the world’s sway?—­
And I, I know not if to pray
Still to be what I am, or yield and be 35
Like all the other men I see.