V

Oh, in the wakening thunders of the heart,
—­The small lost Eden, troubled through the night,
Sounds there not now,—­forboded and apart,
        Some voice and sword of light? 
Some voice and portent of a dawn to break?—­
  Searching like God, the ruinous human shard
Of that lost Brother-man Himself did make,
        And Man himself hath marred?

It sounds!—­And may the anguish of that birth
  Seize on the world; and may all shelters fail,
Till we behold new Heaven and new Earth
        Through the rent Temple-vail! 
When the high-tides that threaten near and far
  To sweep away our guilt before the sky,—­
Flooding the waste of this dishonored Star,
        Cleanse, and o’erwhelm, and cry!—­

Cry, from the deep of world-accusing waves,
  With longing more than all since Light began,
Above the nations,—­underneath the graves,—­
        ‘Give back the Singing Man!’

THE TREES

I

Now, in the thousandth year,
When April’s near,
Now comes it that the great ones of the earth
Take all their mirth
Away with them, far off, to orchard-places,—­
Nor they nor Solomon arrayed like these,—­
To sun themselves at ease;
To breathe of wind-swept spaces;
To see some miracle of leafy graces;—­
To catch the out-flowing rapture of the trees. 
Considering the lilies. 
                       —­Yes.  And when
Shall they consider Men?

(O showering May-clad tree,
Bear yet awhile with me.)

II

For now at last, they have beheld the trees. 
Lo, even these!—­
The men of sounding laughter and low fears;
The women of light laughter, and no tears;
The great ones of the town. 
And those, of most renown,
That once sold doves,—­now grown so pennywise
To bargain with forlorner merchandise,—­
They buy and sell, they buy and sell again,
The life-long toil of men. 
Worn with their market strife to dispossess
The blind,—­the fatherless,
They too go forth, to breathe of budding trees,
And woods with beckoning wonders new unfurled. 
Yes, even these: 
The money-changers and the Pharisees;
The rulers of the darkness of this world.

      (O choiring Summer tree,
      Bear yet awhile with me.)

III

For now, behold their heart’s desire is thrall
To simpleness.—­O new delight, unguessed,
In very rest! 
And precious beyond all,
A garden-place, a garden with a wall! 
To the green earth!  All bountiful to bless
Hearts sickening with excess. 
To the green earth, whose blithe replenishments
Shall fresh the jaded sense! 
To the green earth, the dust-corrupted soul
Returns to be made whole. 
For now it comes indeed,
They will go forth, all they, to see a reed
So shaken by the wind. 
Men are no longer blind
To aught, save human kind.