But here in quietness I can recall
      All I would tell thee, how thou art to me
      Impulse and inspiration, and with thee
    I can but smile though all my idols fall. 
      I wait my meed as others who have known
      Patience till to their utmost stature grown.

    As when the heavens are draped in gloomy gray
      And earth is tremulous with a vague unrest
      A glory fills the tender, troubled West
    That glads the closing of November’s day,
      So breaks in sun-smiles my beclouded sky
      When day is over and I know thee nigh.

    Thou art so much, all this and more, to me,
      And what am I to thee?  Can I repay
      These many gifts?  Is there no royal way
    Of recompense, so I may proudly see
      The man my heart delights to praise renowned
      For wealth and honor, and with rapture crowned?

    Ah! though there is no recompense in love
      Yet have I paid thee, given these gifts to thee,
      Joy, riches, worship.  Thou hast joy in me,
    Is it not so, Beloved?  Who shall prove
      No worship of thee by my soul confessed? 
      And riches?  Ah! a wealth of love is best.

Song.

I have known a thousand pleasures,—­
Love is best—­
Ocean’s songs and forest treasures,
Work and rest,
Jewelled joys of dear existence,
Triumph over Fate’s resistance,
But to prove, through Time’s wide distance,
Love is best.

Prayer.

I stood upon a hill, and watched the death
Of the day’s turmoil.  Still the glory spread
Cloud-top to cloud-top, and each rearing head
Trembled to crimson.  So a mighty breath
From some wild Titan in a rising ire
Might kindle flame in voicing his desire.

    Soft stirred the evening air; the pine-crowned hills
      Glowed in an answering rapture where the flush
      Grew to a blood-drop, and the vesper hush
    Moved in my soul, while from my life all ills
      Faded and passed away.  God’s voice was there
      And in my heart the silence was a prayer.

    There was a day when to my fearfulness
      Was born a joy, when doubt was swept afar
      A shadow and a memory, and a star
    Gleamed in my sky more bright for the distress. 
      The stillness breathed thanksgiving, and the air
      Wafted, methought, the incense of a prayer.

    Heaven sets no bounds of bead-roll or appeal;
      And when the fiery heart with mute embrace
      Bends, tremblingly, but for a moment’s space
    It needs no words that cry, no limbs that kneel. 
      As meteors flash, so, in a moment’s light,
      Life, darting forth, touches the Infinite.

    All my prayers wordless?  Nay, I can recall
      A night not so long past but that each thought
      Lives at this hour, and throbs again unsought
    When Silence broods, and Night’s chill shadows fall;
      Then Darkness’ thousand pulses thrilled and stirred
      With the dear grace of a remembered word;