A gurly breeze swept from
the pool
The Autumn peace so blue and
cool,
Which all day long had dreamed
thereon
Of men and things aforetime
gone,
Their vanished joy, their
ended dule:
So glooms the sea, so sounds
her brool,
As from the East at eve comes
on
A
gurly breeze.
Sense yields to Fancy ’neath
whose rule
This inland scene is quickly
full
Of ocean moods wherein I con
As in a picture; quickly gone.
To what sweet use the mind
may school
A
gurly breeze!
SONNETS
I.
A Hamadryad Dies.
Low mourned the Oread round
the Arcadian hills;
The Naiad murmured and the
Dryad moaned;
The meadow-maiden left her
daffodils
To join the Hamadryades who
groaned
Over a sister newly fallen
dead.
That Life might perish out
of Arcady
From immemorial times was
never said;
Yet here one lay dead by her
dead oak-tree.
“Who made our Hamadryad
cold and mute?”
The others cried in sorrow
and in wonder.
“I,” answered
Death, close by in ashen suit;
“Yet fear not me for
this, nor start asunder;
Arcadian life shall keep its
ancient zest
Though I be here. My
name?—is it not Rest?”
II.
"Et in Arcadia ego ..."
“What traveller soever
wander here
In quest of peace and what
is best of pleasure,
Let not his hope be overcast
and drear
Because I, Death, am here
to fix the measure
Of life, even in blameless
Arcady.
Bay, laurel, myrtle, ivy never
sere,
And fields flower-decorated
all the year,
And streams that carry secrets
to the sea,
And hills that hold back something
evermore
Though wild their speech with
clouds in thunder-roar,—
Yea, every sylvan sight and
peaceful tone
Are thine to give thy days
their purer zest.
Let not the legend grieve
thee on this stone.
I Death am here. What
then? My name is Rest.”
III.
Despairless! Hopeless!
Quietly I wait
On these unpeopled tracks
the happy close
Of Day, whose advent rang
with noise elate,
Whose later stage was quick
with mirthful shows
And clasping loves, with hate
and hearty blows,
And dreams of coming gifts
withheld by Fate
From morrow unto morrow, till
her great
Dread eyes ’gan tell
of other gifts than those,
And her advancing wings gloomed
like a pall;
Her speech foretelling joy
became a dirge
As piteous as pitiless; and
all
My company had passed beyond
the verge
And lost me ere Fate raised
her blinding wings....
Hark! through the dusk a bird
“at heaven’s gate sings.”