To the jagged rocks that fling
Mildew shadows, black and blight.
Learn a lesson from the stream,
Poet! though thy path may lie
Hid forever from the gleam
Of the blue and sunny sky,—
Though thy way be steep and long,
Sing thou still a cheerful song!
SPIRIT OF BEAUTY.
Come sister spirits, touch his eyelids newly,
With that rare juice whose magic power it is,
To give the rose-hue to those things which truly
Wear the sad livery of ugliness.
Oh, dignify the office of the meanest
Of all God's manifold created things;
And sprinkle his heart's wounds with the serenest
Waters of sweetness, from our fabled springs.
Oh, close him round with visions of all rareness,
Make him see everything with smiling eye;
Let all his dreams be unsurpassed for fairness,
And what we feign out-charm reality.
Come, sister spirits, up and do your duty;
When the Poet pines, feast his soul with beauty.
SPIRIT OF THE TREES.
Let us wave our branches gently
With a murmur low and loving;
He will say we sang him quaintly
Some old ballad, sweetly moving.
'Tis of all the ways the surest
To awake a poet's fancies,
For he loves these things the purest—
Sigh of leaves, and scent of pansies.
He has loved us, we will love him,
And will cheer his hour of sadness,
