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 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, 
 
PROLEGOMENA 
 
 TO 
 
 IN MEMORIAM 
 
 7' 
 
 THOMAS DAVIDSON 
 
 WITH AN INDEX TO THE POEM 
 
 S 'io era sol di me quel che creasti 
 Novellamente, Amor che '1 ciel governi, 
 Tu '1 sai, che col tuo lume mi levasti. 
 
 Dante 
 
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 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 
 
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iv Preface. 
 
 haps give my essay a pedantic air. If so, my 
 excuse is this : I wished to show that lit 
 Memoriam hes in the chief current of the 
 world's thought, since otherwise it would not 
 be a world-poem. For, as George Buchanan 
 says, 
 
 " Sola doctorum monumenta vatum 
 Nesciunt Fati imperium severi ; 
 Sola contemnunt Phlegethonta et Orci 
 Jura superbi." 
 
 Tennyson is indeed " the heir of all the ages." 
 The roots of his thought have struck down 
 deep into the universal thought, into the 
 Logos. 
 
 The Index is mainly a copy of one pub- 
 lished in 1862 by Moxon & Co., of London. I 
 have merely corrected a few errors, shortened 
 many of the quotations, and adapted the 
 whole to the later editions of the poem. In 
 these there is an additional ode, No. XXXIX. 
 Persons using the Index along with the earlier 
 editions must add one to the number of every 
 ode after the thirty-eighth. 
 
 Thomas Davidson. 
 
 New York, February ij, i88g. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 Introduction. (Prologue.) i 
 
 The Decay and Restoration of Faith. The Nature of 
 Faith and its Relation to Understanding. 
 
 Chapter I. (i-viii.) 27 
 
 The poet justifies his grief, describes its effects, ex- 
 plains why he writes of it, refuses cheap consolation, 
 and seeks only to embalm the past. 
 
 Chapter II. (ix-xxi.) 30 
 
 The circumstances of the friend's death, the return of 
 the body to England, and its burial. 
 
 Chapter III. (xxii-xxvii.) 33 
 
 The friendship for the dead. Its reality and blessed- 
 ness. Not to be quenched by time or sorrow. 
 
 Chapter IV. (xxviii-xxxvii.) 35 
 
 Turning from the past to the future. The immortality 
 of the soul. The hope coming from revelation con- 
 firmed by reason. Reason and Revelation. 
 
 Chapter V. (xxxviii-xlviii.) 41 
 
 The simple conviction of immortality does not satisfy 
 the heart, which desires to realize immortal life and 
 communicate with the departed. Metempsychosis. 
 
 Chapter VI. (xlix-lviii.) 49 
 
 More problems. The problem of Evil and Death. 
 The conflict of Nature and Faith. 
 
 Chapter VII. (lix-lxxi.) 58 
 
 Acceptance of Sorrow, as a chastener. Hope. Play 
 of the fancy. Visions of sleep and waking. 
 Chapter VIII. (Ixxii-lxxvii.) . ' . . . -63 
 What his friend might have been. Vanity of fame and 
 of monuments. 
 
vi Contents, 
 
 Chapter IX. (Ixxviii-lxxxiii.) 67 
 
 Sorrow woven into life. The example of the friend 
 followed. The moral world reconstructed. 
 
 Chapter X. (Ixxxiv-lxxxix.) 71 
 
 The " low beginnings of content," resulting in (i) ac- 
 ceptance of loss, (2) new attachments, (3) power to 
 dwell with pleasure in the past. 
 
 Chapter XI. (xc-xcvi.) 78 
 
 Desire still to see the friend in any form. Difficulties. 
 Trance. Ecstatic union with the glorified spirit. 
 Vision of truth. Doubt. 
 
 Chapter XII. (xcvii-ciii.) 91 
 
 The presence of the lost one, as a universal spirit, 
 begins to be felt, though only at times. The old 
 sore still easily opened. A happy, significant dream. 
 
 Chapter XIII. (civ-cxiv.) 96 
 
 Though our life at present is full of disappointment 
 and sorrow, the poet will embrace it, and let sorrow 
 make him wise. The wisdom buried with his friend. 
 Knowledge and Wisdom. 
 
 Chapter XIV. (cxv-cxxiv.) 104 
 
 The return of spring reawakens hope, which soon ~ 
 ripens into faith and confidence. 
 
 Chapter XV. (cxxv-cxxxi.) 112 
 
 Faith, Hope, and Love all intact. The greatest is 
 Love, without which Faith would be weak. 
 
 Chapter XVI. (Epilogue.) 120 
 
 The New Life, full of joy and assurance. The Divine 
 Process. Conclusion. 
 Index to In Memoriam 125 
 
PROLEGOMENA TO IN 
 MEMORIAM. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Prologue. 
 
 The Decay and Restoration of Faith. The 
 Nature of Faith and its Relation to Under- 
 standing. 
 
 Out of original character, instruction, and 
 experience every human being builds up his 
 own moral world, an ideal order of things 
 which imparts to his actions whatever ration- 
 ality and aim they may possess. Upon the 
 world thus created everything in his life de- 
 pends, his optimism or pessimism, his happi- 
 ness or misery. If his world is rational, in- 
 spiring faith and courage, by offering motives 
 for continuous, enthusiastic activity, his life, 
 whatever may befall, is a blessed unity. If, 
 on the contrary, his world fails to disclose any 
 purpose, any reason why one course of action 
 should be preferred to another, anything worthy 
 of supreme love and devotion, life is fragment- 
 ary, feeble, and, when temperament fails, miser- 
 able. Success in life, in the deepest sense, de- 
 pends upon his power to build up and sustain 
 an aimful and consistent moral world. 
 
2 Introduction. 
 
 Unfortunately, such a world, even after it 
 has been built up, may be destroyed, and no 
 greater disaster can happen to any man,-^ In 
 such an event, the will is paralyzed, and life 
 loses meaning and direction." And, since a 
 man's moral world is the response to his whole 
 moral nature, including three elements, insight, 
 love, and energy, the catastrophe may come 
 through the failure of any one of these, that is, 
 through doubt, widowed or blasted affection, 
 or unavailing activity. The world of a Faust 
 is shattered by the first, that of a Tennyson 
 by the second, that of a Charles Albert by the 
 third. 
 
 A shattered moral world means a world with- 
 out rationality or aim. Now the postulates of 
 the reason, as Kant has shown, are God, Free- 
 dom, Immortality. Let a man doubt whether 
 there be any moral law in the world, whether 
 he be free to obey such law, or whether obedi- 
 ence to that law will result in good, and dis- 
 obedience in evil, to him, and his moral world 
 is wrecked. Life, offering no motive for moral 
 action, is not worth living. 
 
 In Memoriam is the record of the shattering 
 and rebuilding of a moral world in a man's 
 
 ^ Admirably brought out in Frances Browne's Losses. 
 2 As Tennyson puts it {l7t Me?n., iv. i), 
 
 " My will is bondsman to the dark ; 
 I sit within a helmless bark." 
 
Introduction. 3 
 
 soul. It belongs to the same class of works 
 as the Divine Coiriedy and Faust ; only, whereas 
 the first of these, despite its title, is epic, and 
 the second dramatic, this is lyric. The hero 
 of In Memoriam, like the hero of the Divine 
 Comedy, is the poet himself. Both poems are 
 idealized records of actual experiences. In 
 both the person beloved dies young, leaving 
 the lover for a time utterly desolate. In both 
 cases this desolation, instead of overwhelming 
 the lover, finally quickens his spiritual percep- 
 tions, so that he is enabled to find in the 
 spiritual world what he has lost in the material 
 one, to recover in incorruption what he has 
 lost in corruption. In both cases, a pure, rev- 
 erent human love leads the soul of the lover 
 up to God. Tennyson's Arthur does for the 
 deeply religious and cultivated man of the 
 nineteenth century what Dante's Beatrice did 
 for the similarly endowed man of the four- 
 teenth. Dante finds again his lost Beatrice in 
 the imaginary paradise of his time ; Tenny- 
 son finds his Arthur " mix'd with God and Na- 
 ture." In both poems, the Divine Comedy and 
 In Memoj'iam, the fundamental thought is the 
 same : Man's true happiness consists in the 
 perfect conformity of his will to the divine will, 
 and this conformity is attained through love, 
 first of man, and then of God. " Our wills 
 are ours to make them thine " is the modern 
 
4 Introduction. 
 
 rendering of "E la sua voluntade e nostra 
 pace."^ 
 
 In Memoriam naturally suggests the Platonic 
 Sonnets of Shakespeare (I.-CXXVI.) ; but 
 there is really no more than a most superficial 
 resemblance between the two works, due to 
 the fact that both are addressed by one man to 
 another. In Shakespeare's Sonnets there is no 
 rising from flesh to spirit, only a series of love- 
 vicissitudes. The truth is. In Me??io?'ia?n bears 
 about the same relation to Shakespeare's Son- 
 nets as the Divine Comedy does to Petrarch's. 
 
 In In Memoriam the poet's moral world is 
 shattered by widowed affection, by the loss 
 of a beloved friend, in whom he had found 
 that brother, that more-than-brother,^ through 
 whose lovableness he was able to comprehend 
 the divine lovableness,^ in a word, to see God.'* 
 
 1 Paradise, iii. 85. Compare the last lines of the 
 poem. 
 
 '^ "More than my brothers are to me," ix. 5; Ixxix. i. 
 
 ^ He that loveth not his brother whom he hath seen, 
 cannot love God whom he hath not seen. — i John iv. 21. 
 
 * " The expression of an eye, 
 Where God and Nature met in light." (cxi. 5.) 
 
 " Though mix'd with God and Nature thou, 
 I seem to love thee more and more." (cxxx. 3.) 
 
 Cf. what Dante says of Beatrice {Vita Nuova, cap. 
 xxvi.). 
 
 " Ella sen va, sentendosi laudare, 
 
 Benignamente d' umilta vestuta ; 
 
Introduction. 5 
 
 This loss and the ensuing grief and darkness 
 of soul raised in the poet's mind doubts with 
 regard to the righteousness or moral govern- 
 ment of the world, and robbed life of its mean- 
 ing. The poem describes in detail the nature 
 of these doubts, and the process by which they 
 were ultimately dispelled, and faith in God, 
 Freedom, and Immortality was restored. 
 
 The philosophic meaning of the poem is 
 summed up in the prologue, written in 1849. 
 This takes the form of an address or prayer 
 to " immortal Love," the " strong Son of God," 
 the author of all things in heaven and in earth, 
 of life and of death, the source of that justice 
 which makes life rational. Tennyson, like 
 Dante,^ holds that the efficient cause of the 
 universe is love, and that life without love is 
 worse than death. '^ Nor is the divine love 
 
 E par che sia una cosa venuta 
 
 Di cielo in terra a miracol mostrare," 
 
 and what Emerson says to his friend in " Friendship " : 
 
 "Through thee alone the sky is arched, 
 Through thee the rose i=i red. 
 All things through thee take nobler form, 
 And look beyond the earth ', 
 The mill-round of our fate appears 
 A sun-path in thy worth." 
 
 1 " L'amor che muove il sole e I'altre stelle." Farad. , 
 last line. 
 
 2 See xxvi. 3, 4. Compare Aristotle's words: " With- 
 out friends no one would choose to live, though he pos- 
 sessed all other good things." Nik. Et/i., viii. i : 1155^, 
 
6 Introduction. 
 
 which made and sustains the universe differ- 
 ent in kind from human love. 
 
 " Thou seemest human and divine, 
 The highest, holiest, manhood, thou." 
 
 We may, therefore, trust the divine love for all 
 that we should expect from the highest human 
 love, and more. The universe will satisfy the 
 three postulates of the reason. 
 
 (i.) It will be governed by a moral law far 
 more perfect than any that can be expressed 
 in human systems. 
 
 " Our httle systems have their day ; 
 
 They have their day and cease to be : 
 They are but broken lights of thee. 
 And thou, O Lord, art more than they." ^ 
 
 5 sq. Also Fichte's : " Life is love ; and the whole form 
 and force of life consist in love, and arise out of love." 
 Way to a Blessed Life, Lect. i. This doctrine may be 
 said to be fundamental in Aryan thought. The Veda 
 tells us, speaking of creation : — 
 
 " Then first came Love upon it, the new spring 
 Of mind — yea, poets in their hearts discerned, 
 Pondering, this bond between created things 
 And uncreated." 
 
 Hesiod makes Love ("E/jws) the child of Chaos and the 
 brother of Earth (Theog., 120) ; and Parmenides, speak- 
 ing of Genesis, says : — 
 
 " Foremost of gods she gave birth unto Love ; yea, foremost of all 
 gods." 
 
 See Plato, Sympos.,\']Z B. And who does not remember 
 the glorious address to Venus, as the author of all life, 
 in the exordium of Lucretius' poem } 
 
 1 Compare the words uttered by Herakleitos, five 
 
Introduction. y 
 
 (2.) It will leave the human will free, even 
 though reason may be unable to see how ; but 
 that freedom will be secured only by conform- 
 ity to the divine will. 
 
 " Our wills are ours, we know not how ; 
 Our wills are ours, to make them thine." 1 
 
 (3.) It will make possible a conscious im- 
 mortality for the individual. Our sense of 
 justice demands this. 
 
 "Thou wilt not leave us in the dust: 
 
 Thou madest man, he knows not why ; 
 He thinks he was not made to die ; 
 And thou hast made him : thou art just." 
 
 But all these things, the poet admits, are 
 only postulates of reason, matters of faith, not 
 objects of understanding or knowledge. 
 
 " We have but faith : we cannot know; 
 For knowledge is of things we see ; 
 And yet we trust it comes from thee, 
 A beam in darkness : let it grow." 
 
 This verse contains the whole gist of the 
 
 hundred years before our era: "All human laws are fed 
 by one, the divine. For it prevaileth as far as it listeth, 
 and sufficeth for all, and surviveth all." (Frag., xci. 
 edit. By water.) 
 
 * Cf. " Anzi e formale ad esto beato esse 
 Tenersi dentro alia divina voglia. 
 Perch' una fansi nostre voglie stesse. 
 
 E la sua voluntade e nostra pace." 
 
 Divina Cammed., Parad., iii. 7^ sqq. 
 
8 Introduction. 
 
 poem, which might very well have for its sec- 
 ond title, "The Decay and Revival of Faith." 
 Since, then, faith is the source of all those 
 convictions which give life its meaning, we 
 must here stop and carefully inquire : What is 
 faith? How does it stand related to know- 
 ledge ? What are its credentials ? These are 
 all one question under different aspects. 
 
 Faith (TTiVrt?), as a philosophic term, seems 
 to have been first employed by Parmenides. 
 It occurs in his extant fragments twice, and 
 each time means direct intellectual intuition 
 of necessary truth, as opposed to mere con- 
 tingent opinion, arrived at through the medium 
 of sensuous experience or moral persuasion. 
 
 The passages are these : — 
 (i) " Thou needs must investigate all things, 
 
 First the errorless core of the truth that lightly persuad- 
 
 eth, 
 Then the oj^inions of mortals, where no Xme faith doth 
 inhabit " 
 
 (2) " Ne'er will the potence of faith admit that from 
 
 being proceedeth 
 Aught but itself." 
 
 Faith, then, according to Parmenides, instead 
 of being something inferior to empirical know- 
 ledge, which "is of things w^e see," is superior 
 to it, being the very "errorless core of the 
 truth," the necessary assent given by the mind 
 to what is self-evident. By the time of Aris- 
 totle faith has lost this lofty position, as the 
 
Litrodiiction. ' g 
 
 source of certainty, and come to mean the as- 
 sent which the mind, not by necessity of evi- 
 dence, but by the balancing of probabihties, 
 accords to the conclusions of experience. 
 "Faith follows opinion,"^ says that philoso- 
 pher. From this time on, in Greek thought, 
 the term wavers between these two meanings, 
 intuition and belief. Proklos, the last of the 
 great Greek thinkers, holds faith to be the 
 highest of the three ways leading to God, the 
 other two being love and truth. It is due to 
 direct divine illumination. Some Christian 
 sects held the same doctrine ; but, in the 
 Christian world, faith had early many different 
 meanings. F. C. Baur enumerates six senses 
 in which it is used by St. Paul.^ In the Epis- 
 tle to the Hebrews we read, " Faith is the sub- 
 stance of the things hoped for, the test of the 
 things that are not seen." In modern philo- 
 sophical language this would read : Faith is 
 the immediate intuition of the ideal, as distinct 
 from the real, world. St. Augustine defines 
 faith as " thinking with assent," ^ and Thomas 
 Aquinas, agreeing with this, says : " The act 
 which is believing includes a firm adherence 
 
 ^ Ao'l?? eTrerai irlaris, De An., iii. 3 : 428^? 20 
 
 2 Vorlesungen iiber neiitestamentliche Theologic, p. 1 54. 
 
 ^ Credere est cum assensione cogitate. De PrcBdes- 
 
 tinatione Sanctorum, chap, ii., on which see Thomas 
 
 Aquinas, Sum. Theolog., W!^, q. ij. art. i. 
 
lO Introduction. 
 
 to one side (of a question), and in so far the 
 believer coincides with the knower and under- 
 stander ; and yet his knowledge is not perfect 
 through clear vision, and in so far he agrees 
 with the doubter, the suspecter, and the opiner. 
 And thus it is characteristic of the believer 
 that he thinks with assent. For this reason, 
 this act of belief is distinguished from all 
 other acts of the intellect that relate to the 
 true and the false." ..." The intellect of the 
 believer is determined to one alternative, not 
 by reason, but by will." Among modern theo- 
 logians no one has dealt so explicitly with 
 faith as Rosmini, who gives the following as 
 the order of the acts of the soul which pre- 
 cede, constitute, and follow the act of faith. 
 
 "(i.) Revealed knowledge of God, through 
 hearing (external action). 
 
 " (2.) Perception of God, or effectual light is- 
 suing from that revealed knowledge, especially 
 from that part of it which is mysterious (action 
 performed in the essence of the soul). 
 
 "(3.) A consequent feeling, a sweet and sub- 
 lime delight, issuing from that perception, and 
 persuading us of the truth of the things per- 
 ceived. 
 
 " (4.) Power to believe and act holily, the 
 effect of this feeling. 
 
 "(5.) Voluntary act of belief, a practical 
 judgment on the truth and excellence of the 
 
Litrodnction. 1 1 
 
 things known and perceived, an act of estima- 
 tion, the recognition of God as light, truth, and 
 infinite authority. This act, if a man does not 
 recalcitrate with his evil will, is followed by 
 love and holy, meritorious acts of living faith. 
 
 " (6.) Love, which follows this act of prac- 
 tical estimation. 
 
 " (7.) Holy action, following from love." ^ 
 
 M. Renan, speaking of the question of indi- 
 vidual immortality, says : " Perhaps it is well 
 that an eternal veil should cover truths which 
 have a value only when they are the fruit of a 
 pure heart." ^ The implication here is that 
 it is purity of heart that gives eyes to faith. 
 " Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall 
 see God." 
 
 Such are a few of the attempts made by 
 great and profoundly religious men, from the 
 rise of philosophy to the present day, to give 
 a meanino: to the word ' faith.' Though show- 
 ing wide differences in results, they agree in 
 two things : (i) That faith is a faculty of the 
 soul which enables it to grasp truths inacces- 
 sible to understanding and knowledge, the 
 very truths which are required to give life its 
 meaning and consecration ; (2) that its efficacy 
 depends upon a condition of the heart and 
 will, upon a pure heart and a good will. 
 
 1 Antr apologia Soprannaturale, pp. 94 sq. 
 
 2 Introduction to the Book of Job. 
 
12 hitrodiiction. 
 
 It is these two essential elements that enter 
 into Tennyson's conception of faith. Faith 
 gives us 
 
 " truths that never can be proved 
 Until we close with all we loved, 
 And all we flow from, soul in soul." ^ 
 
 It "comes of self control ; "^ it has its source 
 in reverence ; ^ it is the protest of the heart 
 against the " freezing reason's colder part." 
 It is wisdom, as distinct from, and superior to, 
 knowledge. That the poet identifies faith with 
 wisdom is clear from a comparison of the fol- 
 lowing passages : 
 
 *' Let knowledge grow from more to more, 
 But more of reverence in us dwell; 
 That mind and sold, according well, 
 May make one music as before, 
 *' But vaster." 
 
 " For she (knowledge) is earthly of the mind, 
 But Wisdom heavenly of the Jtw/." 
 
 Here Wisdom is written with a capital, to show 
 that it means the personified wisdom of the 
 Alexandrine Jews, which was another name for 
 the Logos, or Word, spoken of in the opening 
 verses of St. John's Gospel, and identified with 
 Christ.'* But, though faith or wisdom deals 
 
 1 cxxxi. 3; Cf. Prol., r, 6; Iv. 5; cxxiv. 6; cxxvii. i. 
 
 2 cxxxi. 3. 
 
 ^ Prol., 7 ; cxiv. 6. 
 
 * See Proverbs^xix. 19; viii., ix., and the whole Book 
 
Introduction. 1 3 
 
 with higher things than knowledge does, it is 
 inferior to knowledge in power to produce cer- 
 tainty. The reason of this is that its objects 
 are formless, and the human mind has diffi- 
 culty in thinking anything of this sort. " We 
 walk by faith, not by form," ^ says St. Paul. 
 But, as Aristotle remarks, ''The soul never 
 thinks without a phantasm." ^ Hence, we are 
 compelled, in order to grasp the things of 
 faith, to have them presented to us in the 
 form of a parable, allegory, myth, or tale. As 
 Dante so well says {Farad. ^ iv. 40) : 
 
 " Thus it behoves your minds to be addressed, 
 Because alone from things of sense they seize, 
 What then they render fit for intellect. 
 
 And so it is that Scripture condescends 
 To your ability ; and hands and feet 
 Ascribes to God, and meaneth something else." 
 
 Tennyson often insists upon the necessity of 
 a form for faith, for example : 
 
 " O thou that after toil and storm 
 
 Mayst seem to have reach 'd a purer air, 
 V^ho?>Q. faith has centre everywhere, 
 Nor cares to fix itself Xoform^ 
 
 of Wisdom, perhaps written by Philo the Jew, whose 
 works contain much regarding Wisdom and the Logos. 
 Cf. I Corinth, i. 30. 
 
 1 2 Corinth, v. 7. Such is the correct translation of 
 this passage. Cf. The figure of this world passeth 
 away, i Corinth, vii. 31. 
 
 2 De Anima, iii. 7 : 43irz 16 sq. 
 
1 4 Introduction. 
 
 *' Leave thou thy sister when she prays. 
 
 " W^\ faith thro' form is pure as thine." ^ 
 
 " And all is well, though yi?//// 3.nd form 
 Be sundered in the night of fear."^ 
 
 " Though trtiths in manhood darkly join 
 Deep-seated in our mystic frame, 
 We yield all blessing to the name 
 Of Him that made them ctirreiit coin. 
 
 " For Wisdom dealt with mortal powers 
 Where truth in closest words shall fail, 
 When triith embodied in a tale 
 Shall enter in at lowly doors." ^ 
 
 This last quotation helps us to understand 
 the relation of faith to knowledge, and to find 
 the credentials for the former. The truths of 
 faith are contained in our very frame or con- 
 stitution, which is mystical, that is, opens out 
 into the Infinite, into God. Every soul can 
 truly say, "I and the Father are one." Tenny- 
 son often dwells upon this mystic union of the 
 finite with the Infinite. Speaking of the origin, 
 of the individual soul, he says : 
 
 " A soul shall draw from out the vast 
 And strike his being into bounds, 
 
 " And, moved thro' life of lower phase, 
 Result in man, be born and think."* 
 
 1 xxxiii. 1,3. '^ cxxvii. i. 
 
 8 xxxvi. I, 2. * Epilogue, 31. 
 
Introduction. 1 5 
 
 Of the birth of the individual 'consciousness, 
 he says : 
 
 " But as he grows he gathers much 
 
 And learns the use of ' I ' and ' me,' 
 And finds ' I am not what I see, 
 And other than the things I touch.' 
 
 " So rounds he to a separate mmd 
 
 From whence clear memory may begin, 
 As thro' the frame that binds him in 
 His isolation grows defined." 
 
 Other even more distinct utterances to the 
 same effect may be found in the poems, 
 " Flower in the crannied wall," " De Profun- 
 dis," and "The Higher Pantheism," in the last 
 of which occur these verses : 
 
 " Dark is the world to thee : thyself art the reason why : 
 For is He not all but thou, that hast power to feel ' I 
 am I ! ' 
 
 " Glory about thee, without thee : and thou f ulfillest thy 
 
 doom, 
 Making Him broken gleams, and a stifled splendor and 
 
 gloom. 
 
 " Speak to Him thou, for He hears, and Spirit with 
 
 Spirit can meet — 
 Closer is He than breathing, and nearer than hands and 
 
 feet." 
 
 The gist of all this is, that the human being, 
 in putting on individuality, in striking his being 
 into bounds, in rounding to a separate mind 
 capable of knowledge, readily loses the con- 
 
1 6 Introdjiction. 
 
 sciousness of his oneness with the Infinite,^ 
 which consciousness is faith, the condition of 
 all knowledge, as Parmenides saw. St. Bona- 
 ventura has put this admirably : 
 
 " Strange is the blindness of the intellect 
 which does not consider that which it first 
 sees, and without which it can know nothing. 
 But, as the eye, when intent upon the variety 
 of colors, does not see the light through which 
 it sees other things, or, if it sees, does not 
 observe it, so the eye of our mind, when intent 
 upon these particular and universal entities, 
 does not observe that being which is above all 
 genus, although it is first presented to the 
 mind, and all other things are presented only 
 through it. \Mience it is most truly manifest 
 that, as the eye of the bat behaves to the light, 
 so the eye of our mind behaves to the most 
 obvious things of nature.^ The reason is, that, 
 
 1 Compare Wordsworth, "Our birth is but a sleep 
 and a forgetting" {Ode to Immortality), and Mrs. 
 Browning's lines near the beginning of Aii7'ora Leigh : 
 
 " I have not so far left the coasts of life 
 To travel inland, that I cannot hear 
 The murmur of the outer Infinite, 
 Which unweaned babies smile at in their sleep, 
 When wondered at for smiling." 
 
 2 This sentence is almost a literal translation from 
 Aristotle, who is not usually regarded as mystical : 
 "{Icrirep yap rk rwv vvKrepiScau ofxfxara irphs rh (peyyos exei 
 rh yii€0' rificpav, ovtus koX ttjs rnuLerepas ^v^fiS 6 vovs irphs rh. 
 rrj (piKxei (pavepctiTara Travrwv (the things most obvious in 
 their nature). Hie tap /i., A^, i : 993^ 9 sqcj. 
 
 ( 
 
Intro diLction. 1 7 
 
 being accustomed to the darkness of (indi- 
 vidual) objects, and the phantasms of sensible 
 things, when it sees the light of the highest 
 being, it seems to see nothing (not understand- 
 ing that this very darkness is the highest illu- 
 mination of our minds) ; just as when the eye 
 sees pure light, it seems to see nothing."^ 
 
 But, while our " isolation " through the flesh 
 obscures for us our oneness with the Infinite, 
 it serves to define our individual personality : 
 
 " This use may lie in blood and breath, 
 Which else were fruitless of their due, 
 Had man to learn himself anew 
 Beyond the second birth of Death." - 
 
 And even when the flesh falls away, and we 
 
 " close with all we loved 
 And all we flow from, soul in soul," ^ 
 
 this individuality will continue : 
 
 *' Eternal form shall still divide 
 The eternal soul from all beside." ^ 
 
 From all this it is clear that, while know- 
 ledge is the consciousness of our distinctness 
 from the Infinite, and the relation of our 
 spirits, as distinct, to it, faith is the conscious- 
 ness of our oneness with the Infinite. It is in 
 this double consciousness that the essence of 
 religion and man's true blessedness consist. 
 
 1 Itmera7-inm Mentis in Deum, chap. v. 
 
 2 xlv. 4. 3 cxxxi. 3. 4 xlvii. 2. 
 
1 8 Introduction. 
 
 The human spirit shrinks from the thought of 
 losing either side of it, of losing knowledge of 
 self and not-self, and sinking into a Buddhistic 
 nirvana^ or of losing faith, and finding itself 
 an unsustained, hopeless wanderer in an alien 
 universe. And all causes for such shrinking 
 arise from the difficulty of finding symbols or 
 forms in which to express and justify the con- 
 tent of faith to knowledge, in which alone 
 there is perfect clearness for the ordinary man. 
 All religions have been merely so many at- 
 tempts to find such symbols ^ or forms, and 
 their success has depended upon the fitness of 
 these. The fit symbol is that which finds a re- 
 sponse, an "assent," as Augustine and Thomas 
 Aquinas call it, in the faculty of faith, which 
 Tennyson, following an old usage, calls the 
 soul,^ or heart,^ as distinct from mind,^ or rea- 
 son,® — the faculty of knowledge. Now, the 
 question with regard to the credentials of faith 
 resolves itself into an inquiry into the nature 
 and validity of this response or assent, and 
 this, again, leads us to consider the nature of 
 assent in general. 
 
 1 Symbol is the Greek word for creed, as well as for 
 the signs in the sacraments. 
 
 2 " That mind and soiil, according well, 
 
 May make one music as before." (Prol., 7.) 
 ' " A warmth within the breast would melt 
 The freezing reason s colder part, 
 And, like a man in wrath, the heart 
 Stood up and answered, ' I have felt.' " (cxxiv. 4.) 
 
( 
 
 Introdiictum. 19 
 
 What, then, is assent ? As no one has dealt 
 with this question so fully as Rosmini, we may 
 answer in his words : " Assent is the act by 
 which a man voluntarily affirms with subjective 
 efficacy any object which is present to his in- 
 telligence," such object being always a pos- 
 sible or ideal judgment. To understand a 
 proposition and to assent to it are two widely 
 different things. The mere fact that I under- 
 stand the proposition, *' The soul is immortal," 
 does not compel me to give my assent to it. 
 What, then, is it in a proposition that compels 
 assent ? The feeling or consciousness that, if 
 we withheld assent, we should be doing vio- 
 lence to our own nature. I cannot, for ex- 
 ample, refuse my assent to the proposition, 
 " Not more than one straight line can be 
 drawn through a given point, parallel to an- 
 other straight line," or to this, "Nothing can 
 act before it is," without doing violence to my 
 rational powers, and destroying the very pos- 
 sibility of truth. And I have much the same 
 feeling when I refuse assent to the proposi- 
 tions, " My will is free," " My soul is immor- 
 tal," " My actions have inevitable and eternal 
 consequences to me." I feel that, if these are 
 not true, there is no meaning in anything ; my 
 existence and all existence is irrational, mere 
 vanity of vanities. It is true that Kant has 
 tried to show that the assent which we give to 
 
20 Introduction, 
 
 propositions in mathematics and philosophy 
 of nature has grounds such as are altogether 
 wanting to the assent which we may accord to 
 metaphysical propositions. He says that in 
 the first case we are aided by time and space, 
 the forms of sense, and in the second by the 
 categories of the understanding,^ whereas, 
 when we come to the last, we find in the "pure 
 reason " no form or forms enabling us to have 
 experience of its objects, and so can only as- 
 sume them as postulates, without ever being 
 able to say whether in reality anything corre- 
 sponds to them. But is Kant right in this ? 
 Is it true that the pure reason has no forms 
 making experience of its objects possible ? 
 Was not Parmenides, the ancient Kant, right, 
 when he said, in his poetical way, that Justice 
 (AtKTy) was the teacher of the highest truth ? ^ 
 And are not the oft-repeated words of the Bible 
 true : " The just shall live by faith " ? ^ Is not 
 justice the form of the 'pure reason,' of that 
 higher consciousness which we call faith .? Is 
 it not true that just as all sensuous apprehen- 
 sion is conditioned by space and time, and all 
 
 1 These Schopenhauer has very correctly reduced to 
 the one category of Cause or Causation. 
 
 2 There are few thmgs in literature finer than his ac- 
 count of how he was led to Truth by Justice. See my 
 translation of his Fragments, yotcrmil of Speadative 
 Philosophy, vol. iv. pp. l-i6. 
 
 3 Habb. ii. 4; Rom. i. 17 ; Gal. iii. 11 ; Heb. x. 38, etc. 
 
Introduction. 2 1 
 
 understanding by cause, so all 'pure reason,' 
 or faith {jlo-tis), is conditioned by justice or 
 righteousness, taken in its broadest sense ? 
 And was not Kant forced virtually to admit 
 this, when he came to treat of ethics ? Is not 
 his ' categorical imperative : ' ' Act so that the 
 maxim of thy will may be accepted as the prin- 
 ciple of universal legislation,' — a mere awk- 
 ward way of saying, " Justice is the law of the 
 universe " ? And, in spite of this awkwardness, 
 does not Kant find that his maxim involves 
 three moral postulates — Freedom, Immortal- 
 ity, God ? The fact is that Kant, failing to 
 see that justice is the form of the pure reason, 
 which is essentially moral, left the form of mo- 
 rality a mere blind imperative, and invented a 
 spurious faculty, the practical reason, to deal 
 with it. As a consequence, he was compelled 
 to leave the facts which justice interprets to 
 consciousness mere postulates. Let us once 
 realize that justice is the form of reason, and 
 these facts will present themselves as real. 
 We shall then find the law of justice as neces- 
 sary and universal as the law of cause ; and 
 God will be no longer a postulate, but the 
 supreme reality. This reality is moral in its 
 nature, and can be reached only through the 
 moral faculty, which is the pure reason,^ or 
 
 1 On the error of assuming a practical reason, see 
 Rosmini, Introduction to Principles of Moral Science. ■ 
 
22 Introduction. 
 
 faith, in its original sense. This being true, 
 all propositions explicating the form of faith 
 ought to command our assent as readily as 
 those exphcating the forms of sense and un- 
 derstanding. For example, the proposition, 
 "The human will is free," should command it 
 as certainly as, " Not more than one straight 
 line can be drawn through a given point par- 
 allel to another straight hne," or, "Nothing 
 can act before it is." 
 
 But it will be said. We cannot help assent- 
 ing to the last two : nobody ever doubted 
 them ; whereas we are by no means forced to 
 assent to the first. The most obvious reply 
 to this is, that the last two propositions have 
 both been frequently not only doubted, but 
 denied. Many modern geometers have denied 
 the first : ^ Spinoza and Fichte denied the 
 second.^ But, after all, it is true that the 
 propositions of pure reason are doubted and 
 denied much more frequently than those of 
 sense and understanding ; that they do not so 
 readily command assent as these. There must 
 be some reason for this. Let us consider it. 
 
 When we observe that the propositions de- 
 
 1 See Stallo's Concepts and Theories of Modern Phys- 
 ics, pp. 207 sqq. ; chap. xiii. 
 
 2 Spinoza's Causa sui, which plays so prominent a 
 part in his system, involves this denial, and Fichte's 
 assertion that " the Ego originally absolutely posits its 
 own being " openly expresses it. 
 
Introduction. 23 
 
 pending upon the forms of sense are less fre- 
 quently denied than those depending upon the 
 form of the understanding, and this because 
 the former are more easy to grasp completely 
 than the latter, we ought to expect that the 
 latter would be less frequently denied than 
 those depending upon the form of faith. But 
 there is another and deeper reason for the 
 latter fact. The faculty of faith is much more 
 easily deranged and impaired in its activity 
 than that of understanding, and requires more 
 careful training. It is dependent upon the 
 life which a man leads, and acts normally 
 only in the man whose life is free from stain. 
 " If any one do His will, he will know of the 
 doctrine, whether it be of God." The assent 
 which the soul gives to the propositions of 
 faith is a moral assent, accorded by the moral 
 faculty, which cannot judge correctly, unless it 
 has built up for itself a moral world, by right- 
 eous action. Each human being has his own 
 world, built up through his own faculties. His 
 sensuous world is built up through sense and 
 its forms; his intelligible world through un- 
 derstanding and its form ; his moral world 
 through faith and its form — justice. If a 
 man has built up no moral world for himself 
 by just action, how can he discover the prin- 
 ciple of that world, the absolute Justice, or 
 God, or how can he find a fit symbol for the 
 
24 Introduction. 
 
 same in either understanding or sense ? There 
 is no knowledge without experience. 
 
 There is a third reason why the assent of 
 the mind is given with some hesitancy to the 
 objects of faith, and this is, because for ages 
 this assent has been demanded, and under 
 wrong influences given, to many propositions 
 that are not based upon justice at all, but 
 upon mere fancy and credulity. In rejecting 
 these propositions, the reason has also re- 
 jected those that are founded on justice. As 
 in every case, by forcing a faculty to do some- 
 thing unnatural, we have unfitted it for per- 
 forming its proper function. In attempting to 
 believe myths, we have ceased to be able to 
 believe the truth. But, as Lowell says, "the 
 soul is still oracular," and when its deeds are 
 pure, it will find fitting symbols for the Infinite 
 Justice. 
 
 The result of all these drawbacks is, that 
 the moral assent, which, conditioned by jus- 
 tice, affirms God, Freedom, and Immortality, is 
 given feebly and falteringly, and, in hours of 
 spiritual darkness, withheld altogether. Hence 
 Tennyson calls upon his friend to be near him 
 when his " light is low," and when his " faith 
 is dry," and, at the very last, he speaks of the 
 objects of faith as " truths that never can be 
 proved," until men return to the bosom of 
 God. This only means that the poet, not re- 
 
Introduction. 25 
 
 garding the response of the moral nature, 
 whose form is justice, as final and sufficient, 
 looks for a response from the understanding, 
 to which the things of reason can appear only 
 in the form of symbols, or, as Henry George 
 so admirably puts it, " a shadowy gleam of 
 ultimate relations, the endeavor to express 
 which inevitably falls into type and allegory." 
 But such a response can never be given, in 
 this world or any other; for the response of 
 the soul to the Infinite Justice is not com- 
 manded by knowledge, but by blessedness. 
 Dante knows that he has seen God only be- 
 cause, in saying so, he feels that he is filled 
 with larger bliss. -^ We are mistaken when we 
 think that understanding is the highest faculty 
 of the soul, or certifies to the deepest realities. 
 Above it is that faculty which the understand- 
 ing cannot even define, but which it compares 
 to the confidence reposed in a true and tried 
 friend and calls faith, and which is the human 
 reflex of the Divine Wisdom, man's conscious- 
 ness of the Infinite and his oneness therewith. 
 
 1 " La forma universal di questo nodo 
 Credo ch' io vidi, perche piu di largo, 
 Dicendo questo, mi sento ch' io godo." 
 
 Farad.., xxxiii. 91 sqq. 
 
CHAPTER I. 
 
 (i-viii.) 
 
 The poet justifies his grief, describes its effects, 
 explains why he writes of if, refuses cheap 
 consolation, and seeks only to embalm the past. 
 
 The earliest expression which Tennyson 
 gave to his grief for the loss of his friend is 
 the exquisite lyric, " Break, break, break," in 
 which he makes us feel that his soul is utterly 
 out of harmony with the world, that its light is 
 gone, that only darkness and despair are left. 
 
 In Memoria7n opens in a somewhat less de- 
 spairing tone. Numb, voiceless grief has given 
 place to sorrow mingled with reflection. The 
 poet finds it necessary even to justify his grief 
 to himself. He might, by treading 
 down his past self, that moral world 
 whose light was his friend, rise to higher 
 things. He formerly believed such a course 
 possible ; but now he cannot realize it. The 
 world of his past is the only one wherein his 
 soul is at home. Better a world with love 
 clasping grief than a world without love. The 
 constancy of our love is the measure of our 
 worth. 
 
28 In Memoriam. 
 
 But sorrow is deadening. In clinging to his 
 dead past, he feels like the yew tree 
 that grasps at tombstones, "whose 
 fibres knit the dreamless head " below. A 
 " thousand years of gloom " have settled on 
 him, and in that gloom, Sorrow whispers des- 
 olating doubts, suggesting that the 
 whole universe may be a mere mock- 
 ery, "signifying nothing." Such doubts para- 
 lyze the will, and send all the powers 
 to sleep. The poet sits "within a 
 helmless bark" ; his life has lost direction. 
 His very heart beats sluggishly for want of de- 
 sire or motive, and he scarcely has courage to 
 ask why, or warmth to melt the tears that have 
 frozen at their springs. Only at morning the 
 will shows a little strength, and struggles not 
 to be " the fool of loss." He then seeks to 
 relieve his torpor by putting his grief in words ; 
 but this seems almost a sin, all words 
 are so superficial and inadequate. 
 Still, since the " sad mechanic exercise " of 
 writing verses acts like a narcotic, " numbing 
 pain," he will go on writing, in order to shield 
 himself from cold despair. This method of 
 numbing pain is, indeed, his only refuge ; ac- 
 ceptance is out of the question. Friends try 
 
 to console him by remindino^ him 
 VI . 
 
 that "loss is common to the race"; 
 
 but such comfort is mere chaff. The common- 
 
Hopeless Grief. 29 
 
 ness of loss does not make it less bitter in any 
 one case. The pathos, the awfulness, the 
 surprise of death remain forever the same. 
 Nothing can fill the blank made by the loss of 
 the beloved friend. So the poet turns back to 
 the now darkened world of the past, 
 
 VII 
 
 visits the scenes where he and his 
 friend have been happy together, and finds a 
 little comfort in continuing the art of 
 poetry which they had cultivated in 
 common, and in consecrating it to the memory 
 of the departed. Its chief worth now is that 
 it pleased him, and serves to embalm his 
 memory. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 (ix-xxi.) 
 
 The circumstances of the friend's death, the re- 
 turn of the body to Engla7id, and its burial. 
 
 After the alleviation derived from writing 
 verses to the memory of his friend, 
 the next thing that comforts the poet 
 is the return of the friend's body to England 
 and its burial in English soil. He prays for 
 every blessing upon the ship that bears his 
 " lost Arthur's loved remains." In imagina- 
 tion he follows it day and night on 
 its voyage, like a guardian angel, lest 
 anything should befall it, and the remains be 
 lost. Under the influence of the 
 
 XI 
 
 soothing autumn weather, he feels a 
 
 certain calm ; but it is only the calm of despair,^ 
 
 and even that does not last. Impa- 
 
 XII 
 
 tience drives him to meet the ship, 
 which brings but death instead of life, cause 
 for tears instead of for joy. So strange is it 
 
 1 Compare the lines of Burns : 
 
 " Come, Autumn, sae pensive in yellow and grey, 
 And soothe me wi' tidings o' nature's decay; 
 The dark, dreary wmter an' wild drivin' sna' 
 Alane can delight me — my Nannie 's awa." 
 
Dust to Dust. 3 1 
 
 that the body should return without the in- 
 forming spirit, that he seems to " suf- 
 fer in a dream," so that his "eyes 
 have leisure for their tears," and his fancy 
 for play. But, if the ship should 
 bring the living instead of the dead 
 friend, he would not be surprised, so little has 
 he yet realized the thought of his 
 death. The approach of tempestu- 
 ous winter changes the " calm despair " of 
 the poet's soul into a "wild unrest," which 
 would be overwhelming, were it not for the 
 fancy that the ship bearing his friend's body 
 is peacefully sailing " athwart a plane of 
 molten glass." Such chansie from 
 
 ^ , , ^ XVI. 
 
 one extreme to the other seems sur- 
 prising, and the poet can account for it only 
 by supposing that it is unreal, or else that sor- 
 row has utterly unhinged him, stunned him, 
 and made him delirious. In any case, life has 
 become confused and purposeless. At last the 
 ship arrives, bringing the remains in safety, 
 and the poet once more prays for 
 
 XVII. 
 
 every blessing henceforth to accom- 
 pany it for such kind service. Then the fu- 
 neral takes place. Hallam is buried in 
 Clevedon church, in Somersetshire; 
 in a " still and sequestered situation, on a lone 
 hill that overhangs the Bristol Chan- 
 
 XIX 
 
 nel," " and in the hearing of the 
 
32 /;/ Mernoriam. 
 
 wave." ^ This brings the mourner some sUght 
 comfort. 
 
 " 'T is well ; 't is something ; we may stand 
 Where he in English earth is laid, 
 And from his ashes may be made 
 The violet of his native land." 
 
 His grief now ebbs and flows, like the tides ; 
 it is no longer a changeless flood. During the 
 ebbs — which bear the same relation to the 
 flows as the grief of servants to that of chil- 
 dren in a house " where lies the mas- 
 
 XX. 
 
 ter newly dead " — he can speak. At 
 other times, the words die on his lips, for grief 
 that may not be spoken. Such grief the world 
 does not understand, but looks upon as mere 
 subtle vanity, as waste of energy that 
 might be employed in some practical 
 or scientific pursuit, which alone it can appre- 
 ciate. The poet can only reply : 
 
 *' Behold, ye speak an idle thing : 
 Ye never knew the sacred dust : 
 I do but sing because I must, 
 And pipe but as the linnets sing." ^ 
 
 1 The funeral took place on 3d January, 1S34, the 
 death on the 15th September previous. 
 
 2 Compare Goethe's lines : 
 
 " Ich singe, wie der Vogel singt 
 Der in den Zweigen wohnet ; 
 Das Lied, das aus der Kehle dringt, 
 1st Lohn, der reichlich lohnet." 
 
 Aleister^s L ?hrjahre, II. ii. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 (xxii-xxvii.) 
 
 The friejidship for the dead. Its reality and 
 blessedness. Not to be quenched by time or 
 sorrow. 
 
 Yea, the poet has good cause to mourn. 
 His loss is incalculable. The friend- 
 
 XXII. 
 
 ship so rudely interrupted by death 
 was the very light of his life for four years, 
 years full of pure happiness and lofty 
 endeavor. Between these and the 
 darkened present what a contrast ! And here 
 a question arises in the poet's mind, 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 whether it is not just this contrast 
 
 that makes the years of friendship seem so 
 
 perfect : but his consciousness an- 
 
 XXV. 
 
 swers promptly and affirms, " I know 
 
 that this was Life " ; for it is love that gives 
 
 life its value. He will, therefore, 
 
 XXVI 
 
 cling to that Life with its Love, what- 
 ever sorrow may now overhang it, "whatever 
 fickle tongues may say." Better that he should 
 die, than that love should perish and become 
 indifference. Better deep feeling and passion, 
 
34 Ifi^ Memoriaui. 
 
 with all the pain that may come of them, than 
 
 the calm of a sluggish, indifferent 
 XXVII. , ^^ ' 
 
 heart. 
 
 " I hold it true, whate'er befall ; 
 I feel it, when I sorrow most ; 
 'T is better to have loved and lost 
 Than never to have loved at all." ^ 
 
 1 Compare Goethe's lines, Faust, Pt. II. vv. 1659-60; 
 " Doch im Erstarren such' ich nicht mein Heil, 
 Das Schaudern ist der Menschheit bestes Theil." 
 
 and vv. 2S47-8 : 
 
 " Geheilt will ich nicht sein ! mein Sinn ist machtig I 
 Da war ich ja wie andre niedertrachtig. " 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 (xxviii-xxxvii.) 
 
 Turning from the past to the future. The im- 
 mortality of the soul. The hope coming from 
 revelation confirmed by reason. Reasoii and 
 J^ev elation. 
 
 At this point the poet begins to take some 
 interest in the affairs of life, and to turn from 
 the past to the future. Christmas has come, 
 with its merry bells proclaiming " peace and 
 goodwill to all mankind " and bringing him 
 " sorrow touched with joy," ^ joy engendered 
 by hope. In spite of the p:rief that 
 
 . ■ XXVIII 
 
 lies over the house, and in which even 
 the skies seem to participate, the old Christ- 
 mas formalities and pastimes are kept 
 
 XXIX 
 
 up. But the gladness which such 
 things are meant to attest comes not, only 
 
 " an awful sense 
 Of one mute Shadow, watching all." 
 
 Under the influence of this felt pres- 
 
 XXX 
 
 ence of the loved and lost, the be- 
 
 1 Compare with this the effect of the Easter bells 
 upon Faust, in bringing him back to hope and prevent- 
 ing suicide. Goethe's Faust, Ft. I. 
 
36 In MeinoriaiH. 
 
 reaved take each other's hands and, with tear- 
 bedimmed eyes and echo-Uke voices, sing im- 
 petuously a merry song they sang with him 
 shortly before his death. But the invisible 
 presence and the Christmas season bring a 
 more solemn and a more hopeful feeling, un- 
 der the inspiration of which they sing with as- 
 surance of the immortality of the soul, the 
 "keen seraphic flame," and encourage each 
 other to hope. 
 
 " They do not die 
 Nor lose their mortal sympathy, 
 Nor change to us, although they change. 
 
 "Rapt from the fickle and the frail 
 With gather'd power, yet the same, 
 Pierces the keen seraphic flame 
 From orb to orb, from veil to veil." 
 
 The hope offered by the Christian revelation 
 recalls the story of Lazarus, and the 
 
 XXXI 
 
 poet wonders why, if he was really 
 dead and restored to life, we are not told what 
 he had to relate of the life beyond the grave. 
 He concludes : 
 
 " He told it not ; or something seal'd 
 The lips of that Evangelist." 
 
 His sister, Mary, would have all curiosity on 
 the subject quenched by joy, love, and 
 reverence, feelings far higher than 
 "curious fears," which come only to the un- 
 happy. 
 
Covifort from Revelation. 37 
 
 " Thrice blest whose lives are faithful prayers, 
 Whose loves in higher love endure ; 
 What souls possess themselves so pure, 
 Or is there blessedness like theirs ? " 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 And this leads the poet to warn those who, 
 after much battling with doubt and 
 difficulty, have attained a purely ra- 
 tional faith, that 
 
 " has centre everywhere 
 Nor cares to fix itself to form," 
 
 not to disturb the faith-through-form of their 
 sisters, of those simple souls, who are made 
 happy and eager for good by their childhood's 
 beliefs. A second conscience, in the form of 
 an external ideal, is a valuable and often need- 
 ful addition to "the law within," "in a world 
 of sin." 
 
 But, after all, it ought not to require any 
 revealed, supernatural proof to con- 
 
 XXXIV 
 
 vince us of the soul's immortality. 
 The very dimness and imperfection of our 
 lives here, compared with the perfection we 
 imagine and aspire to, ought to suffice. If 
 those ideals and aspirations which give life its 
 meaning are but delusions, then all is vain, the 
 universe a mockery, justice a cruel chimera, 
 and God a lie. Then 
 
 " 'T were best at once to sink to peace. 
 
 Like birds the charming serpent draws, 
 To drop head-foremost in the jaws 
 Of vacant darkness and to cease." 
 
38 /;/ Memoriam. 
 
 Notwithstanding this verdict of the reason, 
 the poet is willing to consider the 
 
 XXXV 
 
 case so often put by those who can- 
 not see their way to belief in immortality : 
 Supposing by some inconceivable means we 
 could be convinced that death ends all, would 
 it not still be worth while, for the sake of 
 the sweetness of love, to cling to this life ? Is 
 not human life worth living for its own sake ? 
 He replies in the negative, for the reason that 
 the very sweetness and worth of love are due 
 to the feeling that it is divine and eternal. 
 Take away this feeling, convince men that the 
 world is governed by brute force, not by love, 
 and love will lose its sweetness, and die from 
 fear of death. The case is an idle one. 
 
 " If Death were seen 
 At first as Death, Love had not been, ' 
 
 Or been in narrowest working shut, 
 
 " Mere fellowship of sluggish moods, 
 Or in its coarsest Satyr-shape 
 Had bruised the herb and crush'd the grape 
 And bask'd and batten'd in the woods." 
 
 In a word, love unglorified by the feeling of 
 immortality would sink down into mere brute 
 passion. Hence, unless life be immortal, it 
 contains nothing to make it worth living. 
 
 Many persons at the present day will, no 
 doubt, question the justice of this conclusion, 
 and agree with Goethe that "existence is a 
 
Reason attests Inujiortality. 39 
 
 duty, were it but for a moment." Indeed, it 
 seems to be the tendency of thought at the 
 present moment to find a satisfactory formula, 
 that is, a moral and religious motive, for this 
 life, without any reference whatever to a life 
 beyond. That life without such reference 
 could and would be, nay, has been, lived, is 
 certain ; but whether it could long so main- 
 tain itself on moral heights, whether, indeed, 
 there is any satisfactory moral formula for 
 such a life, seems to me very questionable. 
 One thing is certain : no such formula has 
 been found, and the evident failure of the 
 numerous quests recently made points to the 
 conclusion that probably none can be found. 
 
 Although our human reason, when subtly 
 questioned, is sufficient to reveal to us God, 
 Freedom, and Immortality, 
 
 " Tho' truths in manhood darkly join, 
 Deep-seated in our mystic frame," 
 
 this fact does not remove the necessity for an- 
 other revelation, suited to those minds which 
 are incapable of such subtle question- 
 
 XXXVI 
 
 ing. Hence the value of the Christian 
 niythus^ that "truth embodied in a tale." It 
 can " enter in at lowly doors," which would be 
 barred against " truth in closest words." 
 
 But, in speaking thus of Christianity, as a 
 sort of " Picture- Writing to assist the weaker 
 
40 /;/ Memoriam. 
 
 faculty," ^ the poet feels that he has broached 
 
 a delicate subject. The heavenly Muse of 
 
 revelation (Urania) reproves him sharply, and 
 
 tells him to confine himself to his 
 XXXVII. , ^. _. 
 
 own pagan sphere. His pagan Muse 
 
 (Melpomene) replies meekly, confesses her un- 
 worthiness, and pleads for indulgence on ac- 
 count of her need for comfort. 
 
 " I murmur'd as I came along, 
 
 Of comfort clasp'd in truth reveal'd, 
 And loiter'd in the master's field. 
 And darken'd sanctities with song." 
 
 1 Carlyle, Sai'tor Resartus, Bk. II. chap. ix. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 (xxxviii-xlviii.) 
 
 The simple conviction of immortal ify does not 
 satisfy the heart, which desires to realize im- 
 7nortal life and communicate with the departed. 
 
 Metenzpsychosis. 
 
 Though convinced by reason, confirmed by 
 revelation, that life is immortal, and that his 
 friend still exists, the poet yet finds his heart 
 unsatisfied. The want of power to realize his 
 friend's condition, or to establish any form of 
 communication with him, leaves therein a 
 weary, aching, dark, paralyzing void, lighted 
 only by the doubtful gleam coming from the 
 songs which he loves to sing, and which, he 
 hopes, by pleasing the departed, may 
 hold his attention. And so the for- 
 mer darkness, after being slightly dissipated, 
 returns. The gloom of the old stone-grasping, 
 skull-knitting yew, into which, through numb- 
 ing sorrow, he had grown "incorporate," (ii.) 
 
 " is kindled at the tips, 
 And passes into gloom again." 
 
 Such, at least, is the whisper of Sorrow. 
 
42 /;/ Memoriam. 
 
 But the poet is aware that she lies, and em- 
 ploys his fancy in trying to realize the condi- 
 tion of the spirit of his friend. He would fain 
 think of it as a bride, that has left a loving 
 father's house to go to a home full 
 
 XL 
 
 of new love and new hopes, and in 
 some respects the comparison answers ; but 
 alas ! the difference is too palpable. The 
 bride will from time to time return to gladden 
 the scenes of her maidenhood, " And bring 
 her babe, and make her boast ; " 
 
 " But thou and I have shaken hands, 
 Till growing winters lay me low ; 
 My paths are in the fields I know, 
 And thine in undiscover'd lands." 
 
 Feeling the failure of this attempt, the poet 
 tries to conceive an act of will by 
 
 XLI 
 
 which he should be able 
 " To leap the grades of life and light 
 And flash at once " 
 
 upon his friend. But this is folly. He can- 
 not reach him, and at times there comes upon 
 him a chilling, " spectral doubt " that he shall 
 never reach him, but be "evermore a life 
 behind," the difference in their grade of spir- 
 itual development holding them, like gravita- 
 tion, in different spheres. But this he recog- 
 nizes to be a foolish fancy. Such 
 
 XLII. ,.^^ , n y 
 
 difference does not connne souls to 
 different spheres, else he and his friend, who 
 
Viezvs of Immortality. 43 
 
 was so much his superior, could never have 
 walked upon the same earth. And so he may 
 hope to overtake his friend, and learn from him 
 the results of his spiritual experience.^ 
 
 *' And what delights can equal those 
 That stir the spirit's inner deeps, 
 When one that loves but knows not, reaps 
 A truth from one that loves and knows .'' " 
 
 Thus far the poet has considered only the 
 Christian view of immortality, which holds that 
 the soul is created by God at the birth of the 
 body, is incarnated but once, and, after one 
 probation, passes to a condition unalterable 
 for all eternity. But other views of immor- 
 tality have been held. Among the most com- 
 mon of these is metempsychosis, or the belief 
 that every soul is everlasting, and is, or may 
 be, incarnated an indefinite number of times. 
 Of this there are two chief forms, the Greek 
 and the Buddhistic. To these the poet now 
 turns. 
 
 If the soul is incarnated many times, then 
 death is but a lonsier and deeper 
 
 XLIII 
 
 sleep, and life and death alternate 
 
 like waking and sleeping. During death, the 
 
 1 Compare the opposite view, Goethe, Faust, Pt. IL 
 vv. 7467 sqq. 
 
 " Wir wurden friih entfernt 
 Von Lebechoren ; 
 Doch dieser hat gelernt, 
 Er wird uns lehren." 
 
44 III Mcnioriain. 
 
 disembodied spirit, though unconscious, re- 
 tains, in latent form, all the impressions and 
 experience of all its past lives, and thus the 
 entire experience of the world is treasured up, 
 unimpaired, in "that still garden of the souls." 
 In this case also the poet may expect in an- 
 other life to know and love his friend, and to 
 be known and loved by him. 
 
 But, if our present life is only one of many 
 lives, past and to come, does not the fact that 
 we have now no remembrance of any past life 
 raise a presumption that those who pass into 
 another life will have no remembrance of what 
 happened in this, but will have to be- 
 
 XLIV ' . 
 
 gin existence there as children with- 
 out experience ? But the poet doubts whether 
 man has not even in this life some dim recol- 
 lections of past lives : 
 
 " perhaps the hoarding sense 
 Gives out at times (he knows not wlience) 
 A little flash, a mystic hint." ^ 
 
 So, in the higher life, there may come to his 
 friend "some dim touch of earthly things," 
 and the poet begs : 
 
 1 Pythagoras, the founder of the Greek doctrine of 
 metempsychosis, is said to have remembered all his past 
 lives, to have recognized on the door of a temple the 
 shield which, as Euphorbos, he wore in the Trojan war, 
 and to have discovered the soul of an old friend in a 
 dog that some one was whipping. There are some facts 
 in our psychic life which certainly suggest the thought 
 of lives previous to this. 
 
Metempsychosis. 45 
 
 ** If such a dreamy touch should fall, 
 
 O turn thee round, resolve the doubt ; 
 My guardian angel will speak out 
 In that higii place, and tell thee all." 
 
 But, after all, this may be our first conscious 
 life, for which the others were mere prepara- 
 tions. Indeed, the very purpose of 
 this embodiment of ours may be to 
 render us conscious of our own individuality, 
 our separateness from the great universe of 
 being, our identity, which is a matter of mem- 
 ory ; and this consciousness, once gained, may 
 be eternal. Incarnation would seem useless, 
 if, at the dissolution of the body, man lost his 
 individuality and identity, and had to acquire 
 them afresh in each new life. But, granting 
 that in the next life we shall retain the con- 
 sciousness of our identity gained here, it does 
 not follow that we shall remember the events of 
 this life with any clearness, since we observe 
 that, in proportion as we grow older here, we 
 forget the events of our earlier life, its sorrows 
 and joys, ''thorn and flower." Were 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 it not so, life would "fail in looking 
 back ; " that is, it would take a life-time to re- 
 call the events of a life-time. But these facts 
 are all due to the form of time, or succession, 
 under which we think. In the higher life, in 
 which spirits will think under the form of 
 eternity {sitb specie ceternitatis), an all-embra- 
 cing present without past or future. 
 
46 /// Mentor iam. 
 
 " clear from marge to marge shall bloom 
 The eternal landscape of the past." 
 
 In that landscape the years of friendship will 
 seem the richest field, but may shed their ra- 
 diance on the whole. 
 
 The Buddhistic notion, that at death the in- 
 dividual soul loses its identity, " remerging in 
 the general Soul, is faith as vague as all un- 
 sweet." It satisfies neither head nor 
 
 ^^^^^' heart. It teaches that the Infinite 
 and Absolute Being is utterly without form 
 or determination, and all forms, or individuals, 
 appearing in the universe are mere temporary 
 illusions. This doctrine, which leads men to 
 seek the annihilation of Self, as a deluding 
 phantasm, has several times tried to insinu- 
 ate itself into Western thought ; for example, 
 through the Arabs in the twelfth century, and 
 at present, in the form of Monism, and as the 
 outcome of physical science. Indeed, in all 
 cases, the doctrine has its origin in thought 
 carried on in terms of physics. Against it the 
 Church, holding fast to the Aristotelian doc- 
 trine of the eternity of forms, ^ has always ex- 
 erted herself to the utmost, and for a very good 
 reason. Since, in mediaeval terminology, the 
 rational or intellective soul is the " substantial 
 
 1 Metaphys., vi. 8 : lo-^ib 5 sqq., 16 sqq. Cf. Thomas 
 Aquinas, Qiiast. Qiiodlib., ix. art. 11. 
 
Metempsychosis. 47 
 
 form " of the body,^ if forms are not eternal, 
 then the soul is not immortal. We might al- 
 most say that herein lies the fundamental dis- 
 tinction between the thought of the East and 
 that of the West. True to the latter, the poet 
 exclaims : 
 
 " Eternal form shall still divide 
 The eternal soul from all beside, 
 And I shall know him when we meet." 
 
 In the spiritual world there will still be distinc- 
 tion of persons, still fellowship, still love ; and 
 however far isolation may be lost, as souls 
 enter into closer union, it will be lost in light, 
 not in darkness, in nirvana? As St. Bernard 
 puts it : " The substance (of the individual) 
 will remain, but in other form, other glory, 
 
 1 This was laid down expressly, as a dogma of the 
 Church, in the Council of Vienne (1311), in this wise: 
 " Doctrinam onmem, sen positionem temere asserentem 
 aut vertentem in dubium quod substantia animas ration- 
 alis aut intellectivae vere ac per se humani corporis non 
 sit forma, velut erroneam, et veritati Catholicae fidei in- 
 imicam, Sacro approbante Concilio, reprobamus : defi- 
 nientes ut si quisquam deinceps asserere, defendere, seu 
 tenere pertinaciter praesumpserit, quod Anima rationalis 
 seu intellectiva non est forma corporis humani per se et 
 essentialiter, tanquam haereticus sit censendus." This 
 was even more strongly expressed by the Lateran Coun- 
 cil (1515). 
 
 2 Nirvana means " the blowing out, the extinction of 
 light." See Max Miiller, Chips from a German Work- 
 shops i. 276. 
 
48 In Memoriam. 
 
 other power. ... So to be affected is to be 
 deified." 1 
 
 In closing this section of his poem, the au- 
 thor begs his readers not to look upon his 
 
 "brief lays of Sorrow born," as if 
 
 XLVIII. , . ^ . ^ . , . , 
 
 they contained definite solutions or 
 
 the profound problems touched upon in them. 
 
 Sorrow aspires to nothing so lofty : 
 
 " Her care is not to part and prove, 
 
 She takes, when harsher moods remit, 
 What slender shade of doubt may flit, 
 And makes it vassal unto love." 
 
 1 " Manebit quidem substantia, sed in alia forma, alia 
 gloria, alia potentia. ... Sic affici est deificari," De 
 diligendo Deo, x. 28. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 (xlix-lviii.) 
 
 More problems. The prohkin of Evil and Death. 
 The conflict of Nature and Faith. 
 
 The poet resolves to continue his treatment 
 of all the doubts, hints, and fancies that rise, 
 like ripples on the great, ever-deepening ocean 
 of sorrow, and catch broken gleams from all 
 directions, " From art, from nature, 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 from the schools." Before under- 
 taking this work, he offers a kind of prayer to 
 the spirit of his friend, begging it to be near 
 him at all times, when his spiritual 
 powers are low or confused, to ward 
 off depression, despair, and cynicism, and also 
 in old age and death : 
 
 " Be near me when I fade away, 
 
 To point the term of human strife, 
 And on the low dark verge of life 
 The twilight of eternal day." 
 
 But here a doubt springs up : Do we really 
 wish that the spirits of our friends 
 should stand by us and look into our 
 inmost thoughts ? 
 
 " Is there no baseness we would hide ? 
 No inner vileness that we dread ? " 
 
50 In Memoriam. 
 
 But this doubt vanishes when he thinks of the 
 majesty of death : 
 
 " There must be wisdom with great Death, 
 The dead shall look me thro' and thro'." 
 
 Still, although the dead see " with larger 
 
 other eyes than ours," they must see defects 
 
 in us. These exist, however high our inner or 
 
 outer ideal may be. The poet complains that 
 
 the livino: ideal which he had found 
 
 LII 
 
 in his friend does not suffice to draw 
 him up to its height. But the same is true of 
 all ideals, even the Christian one, 
 
 " the sinless years 
 That breathed beneath the Syrian blue." 
 
 A man must not fret, therefore, 
 
 " That life is dash'd with flecks of sin," 
 
 but try to offset the evil in him by a strong, 
 steady endeavor after virtue, so that in the 
 end, 
 
 " When Time hath sunder'd shell from pearl," 
 he may have a " wealth " of good to his credit. 
 This suggests the whole question of the 
 function of evil in the world, a question which 
 faith finds extremely baffling. How can we 
 reconcile the existence of evil and pain with 
 divine goodness ? Is evil ultimate, essential, 
 and eternal, or is it only a passing phenome- 
 non, necessary to emphasize the good and to 
 develop free will .? Is there an eternal hell, or 
 
Function of Evil. 51 
 
 only a temporary purgatory ? These are ques- 
 tions that try men's souls. The modern mind 
 finds it hard to entertain the ordinary Chris- 
 tian behef that evil is eternal, and tends more 
 and more to regard it as good in disguise. 
 This was Goethe's view. Mephistopheles is 
 made to say of himself, " I am a part of that 
 power that always wills the evil, and always 
 does the good." ^ Tennyson, observing that 
 many a man overcomes the heats, passions, 
 and follies of youth, becomes " a sober man 
 among his boys," and " wears his 
 manhood hale and green," is tempted 
 to adopt Goethe's view. He asks : Must the 
 field of life be sown with "wild oats," ere it 
 be fit to produce useful grain ? At best it 
 could be true only for those men who are 
 strong enough to outlive the " heats of youth," 
 not for those who succumb to them. But, 
 even were it true for the first, it would be 
 unwise to 
 
 " preach it as a truth 
 To those that eddy round and round," 
 
 that is, those who are still in the whirlpool of 
 passion. We must not allow the difficulty 
 which " divine Philosophy " finds in drawing a 
 clear line between good and evil to mislead 
 us into confounding them, or trifling with the 
 distinction between them. All such confusion 
 is pandering to "the Lords of Hell." 
 
 1 Faust, Pt. I. vv. 983 sq. 
 
52 /;/ Mcmoriain. 
 
 But, while we call evil evil, we cannot, if we 
 
 believe that "the great heart of the world is 
 
 just," convince ourselves that it is eternal for 
 
 any being, or that anything has been brought 
 
 into life for an end other than itself, 
 
 LIV 
 
 or for no end at all. In God's world 
 there cannot be any refuse or waste. Good 
 will come at last to everything, even to the 
 singed moth and the cloven worm. But alas ! 
 looking at the facts of life as they present 
 themselves to us, we find much that cries out 
 against this conviction. We 
 
 " can but trust that good shall fall 
 At last — far off — at last, to all, 
 And every winter change to spring." 
 
 Such conviction comes not from knowledge, 
 but from faith, that immediate, ineluctable de- 
 mand of the heart for justice, from something 
 in us as natural and imperious as the infant's 
 dread of darkness and cry for the light.-' 
 
 Yea, we cannot doubt that this innate de- 
 mand for justice, this self-approving 
 something which desires that " no life 
 may fail beyond the grave," is the most god- 
 like thing in us. It comes of infinite love and 
 mercy, the dearest attributes of God. Can 
 that which is likest to God in us be a lie ? 
 And shall we allow ourselves to be induced to 
 believe this by certain phenomena of nature, 
 1 Compare cxxiv. 5, Introduction pp. 8 sqq. 
 
Faith and Science. 5 3 
 
 whose meaning we cannot comprehend ? Shall 
 we distrust the deepest utterances of our own 
 souls, and lend an ear to the inarticulate de- 
 liverances of rocks, plants, and brute beasts? 
 If we watch the procedure of Nature, as re- 
 vealed in the fossiliferous rocks and in her 
 living processes, we seem to learn that she 
 cares only for types, and is absolutely indif- 
 ferent to individuals : 
 
 " of fifty seeds 
 She often brings but one to bear." 
 
 It is hard for the understanding to reconcile 
 such facts with the faith that every living thing 
 has its aim, 
 
 "That not one life shall be destroy'd 
 Or cast as rubbish to the void, 
 When God hath made the pile complete." 
 
 Finding no hope but in faith, the poet falls 
 with his burden upon that mystic stair which 
 leads "through darkness up to God," stretches 
 "lame hands of faith," calls to what he feels to 
 be supreme, — justice and love, — and "faintly 
 trusts the larger hope " of universal good. 
 
 There are few finer conceptions in modern 
 literature than that expressed in the lines, 
 
 " the great world's altar-stairs 
 That slope thro' darkness up to God." 
 
 That the way to God is a steep stair, rising 
 through night to light, is a familiar conception 
 
54 I^^ Memoriam. 
 
 with all mystics, with Bernard, Bonaventura, 
 Dante. Even M. Renan says: "The path of 
 the universe is shrouded in darkness, but it 
 goes toward God." -^ But grandly original is 
 the thought that this stair is an " altar-stair," 
 and that the great world itself is an altar, upon 
 which everything that lives, if it will save its 
 life, must offer itself in sacrifice to God. Every 
 step upwards is a step away from self and 
 towards God, from darkness to light. At 
 first the rays from above are faint ; but they 
 brighten as w^e proceed, until at last we reach 
 the great altar-fire, which consumes the very 
 last remnants of self, the cause of all the 
 darkness. 
 
 But even if, with the Comtists and the ma- 
 jority of evolutionists, we could bring 
 ourselves to accept the doctrine that 
 Nature cares nothing for individuals, but only 
 for types or races, and to find a satisfaction for 
 all our aspirations in altruistic devotion to the 
 interests of " Humanity," we should soon find 
 ourselves deprived of even that satisfaction by 
 the voice of Nature. We have but to examine 
 the fossiliferous rocks and the soil of the earth 
 to find that " a thousand types are gone." ^ 
 
 1 Book of Job, Introduction. 
 
 2 See Darwin, Origin of Species, chap, x., 0)i Ext Dic- 
 tion. It must be remembered that this work did not 
 appear till 1859, long after In Memoriam was given to 
 the world. 
 
Nature and Reason. 5 5 
 
 Nature seems to say, " I care for nothing, all 
 shall go." Some catastrophe or some change 
 in natural conditions may extinguish the whole 
 human race at any moment. Can we sacrifice 
 ourselves for a humanity of which this may be 
 the end ? Reason revolts. 
 
 Nature says one thing, Reason, the voice 
 of God, another. Nature says all living things 
 are born to die, " the spirit doth but mean the 
 breath " : ^ Reason, looking at man and his life, 
 his loves, his aspirations, his faith, his suffer- 
 ings, his self-sacrifices, utterly rebels against 
 this suggestion. If man's end is to be petri- 
 fied into rocks, or blown about as dust, then 
 he is a mockery of mockeries, and his life as 
 futile as frail : 
 
 " No more ? A monster then, a dream, 
 A discord. Dragons of the prime 
 That tare each other in their slime, 
 "Were mellow music match'd with him." 
 
 And the poet, in his despair, longs for the voice 
 of his departed friend, " to soothe and bless ; " 
 but feels that no complete solution of his diffi- 
 culties can come, till we have passed " behind 
 the veil " of flesh that hides from us the eternal 
 realities. 
 
 It need hardly be said at the present day 
 
 1 The Latin spiritus, the Greek TrrfCua, i/'w^^, and 
 many other words used to designate the psychic princi- 
 ple, meant originally breath. All metaphysical terms are 
 metaphors, borrowed from physics. 
 
56 In Memoriam. 
 
 that, upon the question of the soul's immortal- 
 ity, Nature and natural science have nothing 
 to say. Science deals solely with becoming 
 ( Werdeti), with phenomena and their order of 
 succession ; and the soul is not a phenomenon. 
 It belongs to the intelligible world of unchang- 
 ing realities, to which also belongs the faculty 
 of faith, "the test of things not seen." Thus 
 "God and Nature," Reason and Understand- 
 ing, are not " at strife ; " they only speak two 
 different languages, and treat of two different 
 worlds. 
 
 The poet's despairing mood does not last. 
 He feels it to be a wrong^ to the mem- 
 
 LVII. 
 
 ory of his friend, and, rather than 
 cherish it, he will accept his loss, and cease 
 wasting and darkening the present by living 
 solely in the past. But, in thus loosening his 
 embrace upon the past, he feels that he is leav- 
 ing half his life behind, and that without it 
 he will pass away, and his activity come to a 
 close. All that comforts him and binds him 
 to life is the thought that his friend is " richly 
 shrined " in his verse. ^ If objective immortality 
 be impossible, he has secured for his friend at 
 
 1 Compare Shakespeare, Sonnet XVIII. 
 
 " But thy eternal summer shall not fade, 
 Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest, 
 Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade, 
 When in eternal lines to time thou grow st ; 
 So long as men can breathe, cr eyes can see, 
 So long lives this, and this gives life to thee." 
 
Refuge in Faith. 57 
 
 least a " subjective immortality," as the Comt- 
 ists say.-^ In the ears of all men " till hearing 
 dies," the poet's verses will sound like the 
 agojtia, announcing 
 
 " The passing of the sweetest soul 
 That ever look'd with human eyes," 
 
 or the requiem sung at a saint's enshrinement. 
 With such sepulchral accents of hopeless 
 resisfnation he tries to take leave of 
 
 , , , LVIII. 
 
 the past and turn to the present ; 
 but ere he can do so, the "high Muse," Faith, 
 bids him not darken human life with such 
 dolorous, fruitless dirges, adding 
 
 " Abide a little longer here, 
 And thou shalt take a nobler leave." 
 
 That is, cling to the past with all its joys and 
 sorrows a little longer, and thou shalt then be 
 able to yield it up and accept the present in a 
 mood nobler than that of mere blind resigna- 
 tion. That past contains the "promise and 
 potency " of the future. Cling to the Beatrice 
 of early faith, until she rise "from flesh to 
 spirit," until thou be able to behold her as 
 spirit ; then thou wilt gladly take leave of the 
 love that was manifested in the flesh, to glow 
 with a deeper love manifested in the spirit. 
 And this will be a nobler leave-taking.^ 
 
 1 See George Eliot, " O may I join the choir invisi- 
 ble," and parts of Swinburne's " Super Flumina Babylo- 
 nis." 
 
 '^ Cf. Dante, Purg., xxx., xxxi. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 (lix-lxxi.) 
 
 Acceptance of Sorrow, as a chastener. Hope. 
 Play of the fancy. Visions of sleep and wak- 
 ing. 
 
 Accordingly, the poet accepts his Sorrow, 
 takes it to his bosom as a wife, real- 
 
 LIX 
 
 izing that, in its milder moods at 
 least, it may make him "wise and good," and, 
 living side by side with Hope, cease to seem 
 Sorrow at all. In this mood he is able to turn 
 with composure to the past, and tries in imagi- 
 nation to conceive his present relation to his 
 
 friend. He feels like a simple village 
 
 girl who has fallen in love with a man 
 of higher rank than her own, and suffers from 
 
 the consciousness of her inferiority. 
 
 LXI • . 
 
 How poor must his mental and spirit- 
 ual condition seem to one who, in heaven, has 
 joined 
 
 " the circle of the wise, 
 The perfect flower of human time " ! ^ 
 
 1 Here the poet had probably in his inind Dante's 
 Rose of the Blessed. See Paradiso, cantos xxx., xxxii. 
 Compare xxiii. 19 sqq. 
 
Sorrow and Hope. 59 
 
 Still, no one, not even the soul of Shakespeare 
 of the sonnets, could have loved a friend more. 
 Perhaps this may be a claim to attention ; if 
 not, if that love is too slight and un- 
 
 LXII 
 
 worthy, then he is willing that his 
 friend should look upon it as a boyish caprice, 
 an idle tale, and turn away from it, with " a fly- 
 ing smile," to nobler loves. But he comforts 
 himself with the thought that wide differences 
 of condition do not always preclude sympathy. 
 He himself has a certain pity and 
 
 LXIII 
 
 affection even for horses and dogs : 
 may not his friend, though as far exalted 
 above him as he above these animals, have 
 a certain compassionate feeling for him ? 
 Another thought strikes him. His 
 
 - LXIV 
 
 friend may look back upon his earthly 
 life and him, as a man who, having risen by 
 his own efforts from a low condition to one 
 of influence and command, looks back with 
 pleasure and a certain longing to the village 
 where he was born and the friends of his boy- 
 hood, still toiling away at their simple, rustic 
 occupations. 
 
 But these are fancies, whose only aim is to 
 work up a happy thought. His 
 friend may assume any attitude to- 
 ward him he pleases, so long as the bond be- 
 tween them is not broken. He is only anxious 
 to believe that, just as something of his friend 
 
6o In Mernoriam. 
 
 lives and works in him, so something of him 
 
 may Hve and work in his friend. And 
 LXVI. T , . . , 
 
 now he begms to recognize that a cer- 
 tain humanizing effect has come from his loss. 
 The very desolation caused by it, like the 
 blank occasioned by loss of sight, has made 
 him easily pleased with trifles, but at the same 
 time " kindly with his kind.'' The removal 
 of some object of affection which is above us 
 often turns our affection to that which is be- 
 side or below us. 
 
 If, during the day, the poet's imagination is 
 
 occupied with the glorified spirit of 
 
 his friend, at night it wanders to the 
 resting place of his body, seeing his memorial 
 tablet illumined by the moon, or glimmering 
 
 like a ghost in the gray dawn. Even 
 
 LXVIII . <=> J 
 
 in sleep his fancy labors with images 
 of his friend. At one time, the years of friend- 
 ship come up again in all their freshness ; but 
 alas ! when he turns to his friend, he finds a 
 darkening trouble in his eye. Sleep has trans- 
 ferred the distress in his own soul to the face 
 of his friend. A fine piece of psychological 
 
 observation ! At another time he 
 
 LXIX 
 
 dreams of universal desolation. He 
 himself, crowned with thorns, is made the butt 
 of public scorn, until an angel with low voice 
 and bright look comes to his aid. 
 
Visions of Sleep and Waking, 6 1 
 
 " He reach'd the glory of a hand, 
 
 That seem'd to touch it into leaf: 
 The voice was not the voice of grief, 
 The words were hard to understand." 
 
 With the single exception of Dante, no poet 
 has made so many fine observations on the 
 visions of sleep as Tennyson. Perhaps even 
 finer are his observations on those waking vis- 
 ions which he and, apparently, all persons of 
 powerful imagination see, when they 
 gaze fixedly into the dark. These 
 visions are entirely beyond the control of the 
 will. Accordingly, when the poet strives to 
 paint the features of his friend upon the 
 gloom among his waking visions, he finds he 
 
 cannot : 
 
 " the hues are faint 
 And mix with hollow masks of night." 
 
 These masks go on tumbling and mixing at 
 their own pleasure, a strange, weird phantas- 
 magoria, 
 
 *' Till all at once beyojid the will 
 I hear a wizard music roll, 
 And thro' a lattice on the soul 
 Looks thy fair face and makes it still." 
 
 How often does the image which one has 
 vainly tried to conjure up flash of itself be- 
 fore the eye, when the will is quiescent ! 
 
 Among the consistent dream-visions from 
 the past that come to the poet, the 
 
 LXXI 
 
 most remarkable are those from a 
 
62 In Memorimn. 
 
 summer tour which he made through France 
 with his friend in 1832.^ So clear are these 
 visions that he begs " Sleep, kinsman to death 
 and trance and madness," to "bring an opiate 
 trebly strong," and not only call up the past 
 in all its reality and joy, but to blot out the 
 sense of loss and wrong that comes from the 
 present. So, in sleep at least, his friend will 
 be restored to him, in a way foreshadowing the 
 restoration that may be expected from Death. 
 Death may give completely what sleep can 
 give only blurred. So hope comes from many 
 quarters. 
 
 1 Compare the poem, /;/ the Valley of Canter etz. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 (Ixxii-lxxvii.) 
 
 What his friend might have been. Vanity of 
 fame aJid of monumefits. 
 
 But the return of the anniversary of his 
 friend's death (September 15th) brings back 
 all the old feeling of loss, and sets 
 
 . LXXII. 
 
 the poet's imagination to work, fancy- 
 ing all that might have been, had his friend 
 been spared. But he is not now in a rebellious 
 mood. True, the fame which he fore- 
 
 LXXIII 
 
 saw for his friend, as the reward of 
 much usefulness, has not been realized ; but 
 can he tell whether the world needed his 
 friend at all ? " Great Nature is more wise 
 than I," ^ he says elsewhere, and he says the 
 same here, in other words : 
 
 " I curse not nature, no, nor death ; 
 For nothing is that errs from law." 
 
 And, after all, what is fame t A mere shadow 
 that, even at the best, lasts for a few years, 
 but lays no hold on eternity. One can well 
 afford to dispense with the short-lived, sub- 
 1 To J. S., V. 9. 
 
64 Ii^ Menioriam. 
 
 jective immortality of the Comtists,^ mere 
 fame to which its object is utterly insensible, 
 provided he obtain objective immortality, an 
 ever-widening and deepening conscious lif<" 
 What is even Shakespeare's fame '.omparea 
 with eternal bliss ? Dante, who was himself 
 by no means free from the " last infirmity of 
 noble mind," has expressed this with great 
 force and truth, in w^ords placed in the mouth 
 of an enlightened soul in Purgatory : 
 
 " The rumor of the world is but a breath 
 Of wind, that now comes hence and now comes thence, 
 And changes name, because it changes sides, 
 
 " What fame wilt thou have more, if old thou shed 
 From thee the flesh, than if thou hadst been dead 
 Ere thou hadst ceased to babble *pap' and 'mon,'^ 
 
 "From hence a thousand vears, which is a space 
 More brief to the eternal than a wink 
 Is to the circle that in heaven moves slowest ? 
 
 " Your fame is as the greenness of the grass, 
 That comes and goes, and he discolors it 
 Who made it issue tender from the earth. " 3 
 
 Indifference to fame naturally follows from 
 a firm belief in immortality. It is, therefore, 
 
 1 See Comte's Catechisme Positiviste, pp. 161 sqq., 
 where this immortality is described in a very amusing, 
 not to say absurd, way. 
 
 2 " I] pappo e il dindi^'' childish words for bread and 
 money. 
 
 3 PHrg.,y\. 100-8; 1 1 5-7. 
 
Fame and Immortality. 65 
 
 peculiarly characteristic of sincere Christians. 
 Among pagans, fame was reckoned as one of 
 the noblest motives, as we see in the Homeric 
 poems and the Fdda. In the latter we find 
 an excellent expression of the pagan feeling 
 on the subject : " Cattle die ; friends die ; a 
 man himself dies ; but fame dies never to him 
 ^b?.t^ets it well." ^ 
 
 Thinking of the wise and great that have 
 earned fame worthily, the poet recog- 
 nizes in his dead friend a family like- 
 ness to them, which he thinks might be worked 
 up into something compelling a rec- 
 ognition not unlike fame. But this 
 elaboration he will not attempt, leaving his 
 friend's worth to be judged by the measure of 
 his own grief for his loss. Besides, 
 
 "The world which credits what is done 
 Is cold to all that might have been." 
 
 But his friend has found his sphere of work 
 elsewhere, and there, doubtless, his appointed 
 task 
 
 " Is wrought with tumult of acclaim." 
 
 And even if he should choose to do for his 
 friend what Dante did for Beatrice, 
 
 ^ 1 • • ^ ^1 LXXVI. 
 
 raismg to his mterrupted career a 
 monument of glorifying verse, what would it 
 
 ^ Hdvamdl, 75 ; cf. 76. 
 
66 In MemoriajH. 
 
 profit? It too would perish in a few years, 
 
 "before the mouldering of a yew," "ere half 
 
 the lifetime of a.^*, oak." And, though 
 
 LXXVII 
 
 the poems of Hoiiier still last, there 
 is no hope whatever for modern rhyme. It is 
 doomed to early oblivion : 
 
 " But what of that ? My darken'd ways 
 Shall ring with music all the same ; 
 To breathe my loss is more than fame, 
 To utter love more sweet than praise." 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 (Ixxviii-lxxxiii.) 
 
 Sorrow woven into life. The exa?nple of the 
 friend followed. The moral world reco7i- 
 structed. 
 
 Another Christmas comes, in whose festivi- 
 ties there is no sign of mournino^ for 
 
 . . . LXXVIII. 
 
 the departed, 
 
 " No single tear, no mark of pain." 
 
 This does not mean that Sorrow is dead, or 
 has ceased to exert her purifying influence : 
 
 " No — mixt with all this mystic frame, 
 Her deep relations are the same, 
 But with long use her tears are dry." 
 
 She has been accepted and woven silently into 
 Hfe. 
 
 The family festivities suggest the thought 
 that the poet mioht have been ex- 
 
 LXXIX 
 
 pected to find an object for his deep- 
 est affections among his own kin, whereas he 
 has said (ix. 5.) that his friend was more to 
 him than his brothers. He assures his brother ^ 
 
 1 Charles Tennyson, who afterwards changed his sur- 
 name to Turner, was himself no mean poet. In 1827 
 
68 In Mcmoriam. 
 
 that this implies no want of respect for him, 
 who is worthy "to hold the costliest love in 
 fee." But brothers are "one in kind," being 
 moulded under the same influences, whereas 
 the stranger often possesses a difference which 
 gives zest to friendship. 
 
 " And so my wealth resembles thine, 
 But he was rich where I was poor, 
 And he supplied my want the more 
 As his unlikeness fitted mine." 
 
 The difference between himself and his 
 friend sup^gests the question how the 
 
 LXXX 
 
 latter would have acted, had the case 
 been reversed ; that is, had Tennyson died and 
 Hallam been spared. He feels sure that the 
 bereaved one would then have felt 
 
 " A grief as deep as life or thought, 
 But stay'd in peace with God and man," 
 
 turning his "burthen into gain." This exam- 
 ple love prompts the poet to follow. 
 
 Amid such thoughts as these. Sorrow is be- 
 comino^ so gracious that he is almost 
 
 LXXXI 
 
 giving up his grudge against Death, 
 
 the two brothers published conjointly a small volume of 
 poems, entitled " Poems by two Brothers," the contents 
 of which appear in some American editions of Tenny- 
 son's poems. The second volume of Macmillaji' s Maga- 
 zine (i860) contains four sonnets (pp. 98 sq.) and a versi- 
 fied legend (p. 226) by Charles Tennyson, who was a 
 clergyman. The third brother, Frederick Tennyson, was 
 also a poet. 
 
Moral World Reconstructed. 69 
 
 when the thought strikes him that, had his 
 friend Uved, he himself might have come to 
 know a yet deeper love than that of his youth, 
 and his grudge is renewed. 
 
 " But Death returns an answer sweet : 
 • My sudden frost was sudden gain, 
 And gave all ripeness to the grain 
 It might have drawn from after-heat.' " 
 
 And so he again becomes reconciled to 
 Death's work, with only a little re- 
 sentment, because he cannot com- 
 municate with his friend. Altogether, a new 
 life is stirring in him, so full of receptivity and 
 energy that he is impatient with the 
 Spring because it comes too slowly 
 to be in sympathy with him and his feelings : 
 
 " O thou, new-year, delaying long, 
 Delayest the sorrow in my blood, 
 That longs to burst a frozen bud. 
 And flood a fresher throat with song." 
 
 In a word, the poet's shattered moral world 
 has been reconstructed, if not completely, at 
 least far enough to make rational, aimful ac- 
 tivity possible for him. He has done with 
 what he calls " Confusions of a wasted 
 youth." 
 
 And here we may ask : What influences 
 have effected this reconstruction ? The an- 
 swer is, Time and Reason. The former, by 
 dulling the emotional pain which converts the 
 
/o /;/ MemoriavL. 
 
 visible world into chaos, has made it possible 
 for the understanding to recognize that " Noth- 
 ing is that errs from law " : the second, intro- 
 ducing order into the moral chaos, which the 
 understanding always produces, finds justice 
 and love in the essence of things : 
 
 " I know transplanted human worth 
 Will bloom to profit otherwhere." (Ixxii. 3.) 
 
 The injustice which the understanding finds 
 in temporal life Reason wipes out, by pointing 
 to eternal life. Justice is in the spiritual world 
 what mechanical law is in the material. These 
 two worlds constitute the moral world, wherein 
 man is called to choose and act. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 (Ixxxiv-lxxxix.) 
 
 The ^^ low beginnings of content ^'^ resulting in (i) 
 acceptance of loss, (2) new attachmeiits, (3) 
 power to dwell with pleasure in the past. 
 
 In his altered mood, the poet is able to do 
 three things impossible before : First, to con- 
 template, with only a slight reawakening of 
 bitterness, the life that would have been his, 
 if his friend had been spared ; second, to enter 
 upon new friendships ; third, to live over again 
 the past and revisit the scenes of it, with a cer- 
 tain delight. 
 
 (I.) The picture of the life that might have 
 been is drawn with infinite tender- 
 
 LXXXIV 
 
 ness and warmth. The poet sees his 
 friend daily growing in all the graces of man- 
 hood, " a central warmth diffusing bliss " on 
 all his kin, which would have included himself.-^ 
 
 1 Arthur Hallam was to have married Tennyson's 
 sister Emily. Among his published Remai7is there are 
 two poems referring to her, " To two Sisters," " To the 
 loved One." Both are marked by exquisite purity and 
 tenderness, such as we rarely find save in the Italian 
 poets. 
 
72 In Memoriam. 
 
 He sees him a power for good in society and 
 state, earning an honest, unsought fame among 
 men, and the approval of God. He sees him- 
 self "an honor'd guest," walking by the side 
 of his friend through all the phases of a noble 
 life, rich in good, until at last 
 
 " He that died in Holy Land 
 Would reach us out the shining hand, 
 And take us as a single soul." 
 
 Perhaps there does not exist in literature any 
 other description of a noble life equal to this, 
 unless it be that which occurs in the fourth 
 book (third ode) of Dante's Convivio. The 
 following is a literal rendering : 
 
 " The soul which this goodness adorns 
 Holds it not within itself concealed ; 
 For from the beginning, when it weds the body, 
 It shows it even unto death. 
 Obedient, sweet, and modest 
 It is in its Earliest Age ; 
 And it adorns its person with beauty 
 Through the harmony of its parts. 
 In Manhood temperate and strong, 
 Full of love and courteous praise, 
 And only in deeds of loyalty it takes delight. 
 It is in its Old Age 
 
 Prudent and just; and generosity is heard of it; 
 And in itself it rejoices 
 To hear and speak of others' good. 
 Then in the Fourth Part of life 
 It reweds itself to God, 
 Contemplating the end which awaits it, 
 And blesses the times that are past." 
 
Turning back to Life. 73 
 
 (II.) With the old conviction (xxvii. 4) con- 
 firmed that 
 
 " 'T is better to have loved and lost 
 Than never to have loved at all," 
 
 the poet turns warmly to a second friend ^ of 
 early days, who, with a view to allevi- 
 ate their " common grief," has asked 
 him, kindly but half reproachfully, about his 
 condition, and whether sorrow for his loss has 
 weakened his faith and hope in higher things, 
 and blasted his affections. In true Dantesque 
 fashion, he replies to all the three questions in 
 turn. First, he tells of the years of sorrow 
 long-drawn-out that followed his great loss, 
 and how, notwithstanding his pain, he has 
 found, through the influence of his friend, 
 " in grief a strength reserved " preventing him 
 from swerving "to works of weakness." He 
 has continually recognized that the possession 
 of a will free to choose life or death imposes 
 on man heavy responsibilities of action : 
 
 " Yet none could better know than I, 
 How much of act at human hands 
 The sense of human will demands, 
 By which we dare to live or die." 
 
 1 Who the friend is, is not apparent ; possibly E. L. 
 Lushington, or Rev. W. H. Brookfield, on whose death 
 the poet wrote a sonnet, containing these lines : 
 
 " How oft with him we paced that walk of limes, 
 Him, the lost light of those dawn-golden times, 
 Who loved you well ! Now both are gone to rest." 
 
74 If^ Meinoriam. 
 
 Second^ he gives assurance that grief has not 
 undermined his faith, by telHng what he be- 
 lieves with regard to his lost friend : 
 
 " God's finger touch'd him, and he slept. 
 
 " The great Intelligences fair ^ 
 
 That range above our mortal state, 
 In circle round the blessed gate, 
 Received and gave him welcome there ; 
 
 " And led him thro' the blissful climes, 
 And show'd him in the fountain fresh 
 All knowledge that the sons of flesh 
 Shall gather in the cycled times." 
 
 1 " The movers of that [third heaven] are substances 
 separate from matter, that is Intelligeiices, whom the 
 common sort call Afigels.^'' — Dante, Convivio, ii. 5. — 
 " The First Agent, that is, God, impresses his power 
 upon some things after the manner of a direct ray, and 
 on others after the manner of a reflected splendor. 
 Whence, on the Intelligences the divine Light radiates 
 without medium ; on the others it is reflected from these 
 Intelligences that are first illuminated." — Ibid., iii. 14. — 
 " In certain books translated from the Arabic, sepa- 
 rate substances, which we call Angels, are called l7itelli- 
 gences, perhaps for the reason that substances of this 
 kind always have actual [never mere potential] intelli- 
 gence. In books translated from the Greek, however, 
 they are CdMed Intellects ox Minds ^ — Thomas Aquinas, 
 Sum. Theol., Pt. I. q. 79, art. 10. Among the Christian 
 Gnostics these intelligences were called ^ons {a\fav^%). 
 These are mentioned even in the Epistle to the Hebrews, 
 i. 2 : " By whom also He made the /Eons " {aXuvas, curi- 
 ously mistranslated ' worlds ' and ' ages,' in our English 
 versions). 
 
Faith and Love Intact. 75 
 
 Third, he affirms that his affections, so far 
 from being blasted by grief, have been deep- 
 ened and purified by it. He loves his lost 
 friend with a friendship 
 
 " Which masters Time indeed, and is 
 Eternal, separate from fears : 
 The all-assuming months and years 
 Can take no part away from this." 
 
 Nay more, though every season, every wind 
 and wave recall the " old affection of the 
 tomb," that very affection seems to say to 
 him : 
 
 " Arise, and get thee forth and seek 
 A friendship for the years to come." 
 
 Accordingly he accepts with pleasure the prof- 
 fered affection of the other friend, and re- 
 turns it, though still forced to admit, 
 
 " I could not, if I would, transfer 
 The whole I felt for him to you." 
 
 In a word, while loving the incomparable friend 
 more than ever, yea, with the great passion of 
 his life, his heart is still fresh and open to 
 other affections. 
 
 He is now again in full sympathy with Na- 
 ture, the sure sign of spiritual health : 
 
 LXXXVI 
 
 the shadows of Doubt and Death are 
 
 lifted from his fancy, which now exultingly flies 
 
 ** From belt to belt of crimson seas 
 On leagues of odor streaming far, 
 
j6 In Memoriam. 
 
 To where in yonder orient star 
 A hundred spirits whisper * Peace.' " 
 
 (III.) The poet now revisits with delight 
 Cambridge, where he and his friend 
 
 LXXXVII 
 
 had passed so many happy, fruitful 
 days.-^ He gives us a charming picture of the 
 best side of university life, and of Arthur Hal- 
 lam, telling how in his rapt moments his fellows 
 saw 
 
 " The God within him light his face, 
 
 " And seem to lift the form, and glow 
 In azure orbits heavenly-wise ; 
 And over those ethereal eyes 
 The bar of Michael Angelo." 2 
 
 The joy at the thought of all this, alternating 
 with the sense of loss, makes the 
 
 LXXXVIII 
 
 poet feel the fierce extremes of 
 emotion ; so that, though he would " prelude 
 woe," which is disharmony, he is mastered by 
 the fundamental harmony of the universe : 
 
 " The glory of the sum of things 
 Will flash along the chords and go." 
 
 We now get a picture of Hallam's visits to 
 Tennyson's early home in Lincoln- 
 
 LXXXIX 
 
 shire, and of the family life at Som- 
 
 1 Tennyson went to Cambridge in 1828 and there met 
 Hall am. 
 
 2 The portrait of Hallam prefixed to his Remaijts 
 shows this bar, though but slightly. It is very marked 
 in the portraits in profile of Michael Angelo. 
 
The Beauty of the Past. yy 
 
 ersby Rectory. And what an atmosphere of 
 simple happiness, love, and refinement ! No 
 wonder that Hallam hated cities, which 
 
 " merge ... in form and gloss 
 The picturesque of man and man." 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 (xc-xcvi.) 
 
 Desire still to see the friend in any for7n. Dif- 
 ficulties. Trance. Ecstatic tmion with the 
 glorified spirit. Vision of truth. Doubt. 
 
 Having thus, with much pain and struggle, 
 pieced together a new life, of which chasten- 
 ing sorrow is an essential element, the poet 
 asks himself how it would be if his friend 
 should now return to him and annihilate this 
 sorrow. Would he not be disconcerted, like 
 the heir to a great estate by the restoration of 
 his father to life, or a happy wife by the resus- 
 citation of an old, accepted lover ? 
 No ! no ! The man who could feel so 
 
 " tasted love with half his mind, 
 Nor ever drank the inviolate spring 
 Where nighest heaven." 
 
 Gladly would he have his friend return to him. 
 
 " Ah dear, but come thou back to me : 
 
 "Whatever change the years have wrought, 
 I find not yet one lonely thought 
 That cries against my wish for thee." 
 
 Yea, he would be glad to have his friend come 
 
Desire to see the Dead. 79 
 
 back to him in two forms, to suit different 
 seasons ; in the spring assuniing the 
 form he wore on earth ; in the warm, 
 bright summer, his glorified form, appearing 
 " hke a finer fight in fight." ^ At the same 
 time he reafizes that, if his friend should ap- 
 pear to him, he might think the vis- 
 
 XCII 
 
 ion a mere hallucination. Nay, even 
 if it should recall some event from their past 
 lives, he might take this for a trick of memory, 
 while, if it uttered prophecies or warnings 
 which afterwards came true, they would seem 
 
 " But spiritual presentiments 
 And such refraction of events 
 As often rises ere they rise." ^ 
 
 From all this the poet wisely concludes : 
 "I shall not sec thee." His friend, 
 now a glorified Intefiigence, "sepa- 
 rate from matter," will not reveal himself to 
 
 1 Compare the beautiful lines in Dante, Parad., viii. 
 16 sq. 
 
 " E come in fiamma favilla si vede, 
 
 E come in voce voce si discerne," etc. 
 
 - In a biographical sketch of Henry Fitzmaurice Hal- 
 lam, who, like his brother, died young, — a sketch writ- 
 ten by (Sir) Henry Sumner Maine and Franklin Lush- 
 ington and prefixed to the brother's Remains, — we find 
 this curious passage : " He was conscious nearly to the 
 last, and met his early death (of which his presenti- 
 ments for several years had been frequent and very sin- 
 gular) with calmness and fortitude " (p. Ivi.). 
 
So In Mcmoriavi. 
 
 the senses, which are related only to matter. 
 But is there no other, no direct means of com- 
 munication between souls ? ^ May not the 
 free spirit itself come, 
 
 " Where all the nerve of sense is numb ; 
 Spirit to Spirit, Ghost to Ghost" ? 
 
 And the poet begs his friend, if such possi- 
 bihty there be, to descend from his " sightless 
 range with gods," that is, from the invisible, 
 divine world, and to hear 
 
 " The wish too strong for words to name ; 
 That in this blindness of the frame 
 My Ghost may_/tv/ that thine is near." 2 
 
 In other words, he begs his friend to reveal 
 himself as pure spirit to pure spirit, which 
 alone would be true spiritual communication.^ 
 
 1 Cf. Aylvier's Field: 
 
 " Star to star vibrates light : may soul to soul 
 Strike thro' a finer element of her own ? "' 
 
 2 St. Bonaventura, in speaking of the ecstatic union 
 of the soul with God, says : " In this transition, if it is 
 to be perfect, all intellectual activities must be aban- 
 doned, and the whole apex of affection transferred and 
 transformed into God. But this is a mystical and most 
 secret thing, which no one knows save him who receives 
 it, no one receives save him who deserves it." — Itinera- 
 rhim Mentis in Demn, chap. vii. 
 
 ^ Compare Lord Houghton's Strangers Yet : 
 
 " Will it ever more be thus — 
 Spirits still impervious? 
 Shall we ever fairly stand 
 
Desire to see the Dead. 8 1 
 
 But the question arises : What must be the 
 
 internal condition of the man who 
 
 • • 1 xciv. 
 
 may hope to have such spiritual com- 
 munications from the " silent, earnest spirit- 
 realm " ? He must be " pure at heart and 
 sound in head," " with divine affections bold," 
 his spirit "at peace with all." Only such a 
 man can "call the spirits from their golden 
 day." 
 
 " They haunt the silence of the breast, 
 Imaginations cahn and fair, 
 The memory like a cloudless air, 
 The conscience as a sea at rest : 
 
 " But when the heart is full of din, 
 
 And doubt beside the portal waits, 
 They can but listen at the gates, 
 And hear the household jar within." i 
 
 In the quiet of a summer night, when all 
 
 nature is ruled by a spirit of har- 
 
 xcv. 
 mony, the poet finds such a season 
 
 Soul to soul, as hand to hand? 
 Are the bounds eternal set 
 To maintain us strangers yet." 
 
 Corjihill Magazine, vol. i. p. 448. 
 
 1 Compare Shelley's exquisite lines : 
 
 " I am as a spirit who has dwelt 
 Within his heart of hearts, and I have felt 
 His feelings, and have thought his thoughts, and known 
 The inmost converse of his soul, the tone 
 Unheard but in the silence of the blood, 
 When all the pulses in their multitude 
 Image the trembling calm of summer seas." 
 
82 In Memoriain. 
 
 of inner calm, and, in order the better to place 
 his own soul in relation with that of his friend, 
 he reads "the noble letters of the dead." As 
 he proceeds, love and faith and vigor all grow 
 strong. 
 
 '* So word by word, and line by line, 
 
 The dead man touch'd me from the past, 
 And all at once it seem'd at last 
 His living soul was flash'd on mine." 
 
 But this is not the soul in its mundane, unde- 
 veloped condition : it is the soul that has seen 
 the ultimate reality and truth, which it now 
 imparts directly to the soul of the poet : 
 
 ** And mine in his was wound and whirl'd 
 About empyreal heights of thought, 
 And came on that which is, and caught 
 The deep pulsations of the world, 
 
 "Ionian music measuring out 
 
 The steps of Time — the shocks of Chance — 
 The blows of Death. At length my trance 
 Was cancell'd, stricken thro' with doubt." 
 
 That these lines record an actual experience 
 there can be no doubt. The poet tells us that 
 he was in a trance. Lest this assertion should 
 be regarded as a mere poetic phrase, it may 
 be well to say that Tennyson from very 
 early life has been subject to trances. In 
 proof of this, I am allowed to quote from a 
 letter written by him in 1874 to a gentleman 
 in this country, who had sent him an essay on 
 
Trance. 83 
 
 certain remarkable mental effects of anaesthet- 
 ics. He says : " I have never had any reve- 
 lations through anaesthetics ; but a kind of 
 ' waking trance ' (this for lack of a better word) 
 I have frequently had quite up from boy- 
 hood when I have been all alone. This has 
 often come upon me through repeating my 
 own name to myself silently, till all at once as 
 it were out of the intensity of the conscious- 
 ness of individuality the individuality itself 
 seemed to dissolve and fade away into bound- 
 less being — and this not a confused state but 
 the clearest of the clearest, the surest of the 
 surest, utterly beyond words — where death 
 was an almost laughable impossibility — the 
 loss of personality (if so it were) seeming no 
 extinction but the only true life. 
 
 " I am ashamed of my feeble description. 
 Have I not said the state is utterly beyond 
 words ? But in a moment when I come back 
 to my normal state of * sanity ' I am ready to 
 fight for inein liehes Ich, and hold that it will 
 last for aeons of aeons." 
 
 In his trance,^ the poet "came on that 
 which is " (to ovtoxs ov), the ultimate reality, 
 and from that point of view was able to see 
 
 1 Trance is a corruption of the Latin transittis, a word 
 used in the Middle Age to translate the Greek iKtrraa-is 
 or ecstasy. Equivalent expressions were excessus ineii- 
 taliSf excessus mejitis, raphis jjiejitis, ascensio, extasis. 
 
84 In Me7}ioriam, 
 
 the world as a perfect harmony, in which even 
 Chance and Death were necessary and con- 
 cordant elements.^ That such experiences, 
 though rare, have fallen to the lot of deeply 
 religious souls in all ages is a fact most amply 
 attested. Several cases are mentioned in the 
 Bible. Of these the most remarkable is that 
 of Paul the Apostle, recorded in the twelfth 
 chapter of the second Epistle to the Corin- 
 thians. St. Thomas Aquinas discusses the 
 nature of this ecstasy at great length,^ and 
 says : " The soul of man is sometimes rapt, 
 when it is elevated by the divine spirit to su- 
 pernatural things, with abstraction from sen- 
 sible things." Whenever in the Bible the 
 phrases " I was in the spirit," " the spirit of 
 the Lord came upon me," etc., occur, they al- 
 ways imply ecstasy. St. Bonaventura relates 
 that St. Francis of Assisi once fell into a trance, 
 in which he saw a six-winged seraph, nailed to 
 a cross, and that he ever afterwards bore the 
 stigmata of the crucifixion.^ And the whole 
 delightful work. The SouVs Progress in God, is 
 nothing but a guide to such ecstasy. Dante 
 
 1 An exactly similar experience is claimed for Py- 
 thagoras, " that being outside of the body he heard a 
 melodious harmony" ('E/ferj/os i<^f) ws e^ca yev6iJ.€uos rov 
 edofiaros aK-fiKoa efifieXods apfxovias. Schol. Ambros. to 
 Odyssey I. 371). 
 
 2 Supz. T/ieo/., II. 2 q. clxxv. 
 
 ^ Itinera}'. Mentis in Deum, chapp. i., vii. 
 
Ecstasy. 85 
 
 tells us with regard to himself : " After this 
 sonnet there appeared to me a wonderful vis- 
 ion, in which I saw things that made me con- 
 clude to say no more of this blessed one until 
 such time as I could more worthily treat of 
 her." ^ The result was the Divine Coiiiedy. 
 
 But it is not only among Christians that 
 such experiences have occurred. Not to men- 
 tion the trances ascribed in late times to Py- 
 thagoras, or the references to visions of the 
 Divine in Plato - and Aristotle,^ we find Por- 
 phyry, in his biography of his master, Ploti- 
 nus, saying that this philosopher had frequent 
 trances, in which he saw " that God who has 
 neither shape nor form (iSea), and is exalted 
 above all intellect and all that is intelligible," 
 four such trances having been vouchsafed dur- 
 ing his own acquaintance with him. Nay, he 
 even goes farther, and affirms that he himself 
 had one such experience, in his sixty-eighth 
 year. To attain such states was the end and 
 aim of all Neoplatonic philosophy, as well as 
 of much Christian Gnosticism. 
 
 It appears, then, that certain persons of 
 pure and deeply religious nature, when under 
 the influence of a strong spiritual love, and 
 when their souls are calm, collected, and free 
 from the irritation of the senses, rise to a finer 
 
 1 Vita Niiova, last chapter. - See Sympositwi.-p. 211. 
 8 Metaphysics, xii. 7 : 10721^ 24. 
 
S6 In Memoriam. 
 
 form of consciousness, in which they become 
 clearly and directly aware of those universal, 
 spiritual energies which control the world, and 
 which, in their very nature, are beyond the 
 reach of ordinary sense-perception. With re- 
 gard to such experiences these three facts are 
 well attested: (i) That they are infinitely 
 sweeter and more satisfying to the soul than 
 any other ; (2) that they impart to the mind a 
 certainty of higher things which nothing else 
 gives; (3) that they cannot be expressed in 
 human concepts or in human speech, except 
 through vague symbols and parables, which 
 point rather to blessedness than to knowledge. 
 Paul tells us that he " heard things unspeak- 
 able (or unspoken) which a man may not utter." 
 Dante says : 
 
 " Within that heaven which of His light takes most 
 Was I, and things beheld which to rehearse 
 Who thence descends hath neither wit nor words ; 
 
 Because, when it approacheth its desire, 
 Our intellect goes deep'ning down so far 
 That after it the memory cannot go. 
 
 But yet whatever of the blessed realm 
 I had the power to treasure in my mind 
 Shall be the matter of the present song." 1 
 
 And when at last he " comes on that which is," 
 and sees the primal fount of being, he can dis- 
 tinguish nothing : he is only supremely blest.^ 
 
 ^ Par ad., i. 4 sqq. 2 gee p. 25, note. 
 
Ecstasy. ^j 
 
 In words almost identical in meaning with 
 those quoted above, Tennyson says of his 
 trance : 
 
 " Vague words ! but ah, how hard to frame 
 In matter-moulded forms of speech, 
 Or ev'ii for intellect to reach 
 Thro' memory that which I became." ^ 
 
 That such trances are closely akin to the 
 deepest poetic insight is shown by the utter- 
 ances of many true poets. Wordsworth's lines 
 will occur to every one. They are quoted here 
 as the highest modern expression of ecstasy : 
 
 " Such was the Boy — but for the growing Youth 
 What soul was his, when, from the naked top 
 Of some bold headlartd he beheld the sun 
 Rise up and bathe the world in light ! He looked — 
 Ocean and earth, the solid frame of earth 
 And ocean's liquid mass beneath him lay 
 In gladness and deep joy. The clouds were touched, 
 And in their silent faces did he read 
 Unutterable love. Sound needed none, 
 Nor any voice of joy ; his spirit drank 
 The spectacle : sensation, soul, and form 
 All melted into him ; they swallowed up 
 His animal being ; in them did he live, 
 And by them did he live ; they were his life. 
 In such access of mind, in such high hour 
 Of visitation from the living God, 
 
 1 Compare Dante, Parad.y i. 70 sqq. 
 
 " Transhumanize to signify by words 
 None may : but let th' example serve for those 
 For whom grace holds th' experience in reserve." 
 
SB III Memoriam. 
 
 Thought was not; in enjoyment it expired. 
 No thanks he breathed, he proffered no request ; 
 Rapt into still communion which transcends 
 The imperfect offices of prayer and praise, 
 His mind was a thanksgiving to the power 
 That made him ; it was blessedness and love." ^ 
 
 Goethe doubtless puts his own deepest insight 
 into the Chorus Mysticus, with which he closes 
 Faust, his great life-work : 
 
 "All the transient 
 Is but a parable ; 
 The unattainable 
 Here grows attainment ; 
 The indescribable — 
 Here it is done." 
 
 It is perhaps worth while observing that, in the 
 Prologue to Faust, Goethe makes the world 
 seem a perfect harmony to the archangels, 
 who see the principle and whole of it.^ Only 
 to the narrow intellect of Mephistopheles is 
 everything disharmony. 
 
 It has seemed necessary to dwell at some 
 length on this matter of ecstasy, because it is, 
 in a sense, the kernel of the whole poem, 
 which everywhere teaches us that knowing is 
 not the highest faculty of the soul, but that 
 above it is another, which alone can give us 
 the truths necessary for rational life. This is 
 
 1 Excursion, Bk. I. 
 
 2 " Und alle deine hohen Werkc 
 
 Sind herrlich wie am ersten Tag." 
 
Ecstasy, ^9 
 
 the faculty of faith, whose form is justice, and 
 which, when at its highest, sees justice or har- 
 mony everywhere. It has been shown that an 
 ecstatic vision of the absolute harmony has 
 been claimed by some of the purest and no- 
 blest of human kind. The question remams : 
 What is the value of such visions ? Seemg 
 that they leave behind them no clear know- 
 ledge but only certain blessed feelmgs that 
 seek 'expression in symbols or myths, often 
 strange and fanciful, like St. Francis' six- 
 winged seraph, what confidence can the under- 
 standing place in such symbols ? Can they be 
 fairly interpreted so as to be a gmde and stay 
 to human life ? Every soul, it seems, must an- 
 swer this question for itself, no matter whether 
 it has had the experience itself, or only learnt 
 of it from others. Tennyson at first could not 
 place full confidence in his vision. It 
 
 " Was cancell'd, stricken thro' with doubt." 
 Morning found him a skeptic. 
 
 Shall this doubt be put away, as something 
 base? The simple, tender spirit of ^^^^ 
 the sister says reverently : " Doubt 
 is Devil-born." He knows not : he might even 
 be inclined to admit this, were it not for the 
 example of his friend, who always "fought his 
 doubts." He knows that in the highest region 
 of the soul it is not doubt, but impurity, that 
 mars and darkens. 
 
90 In Memoriam, 
 
 " Perplext in faith, but pure in deeds, 
 At last he beat his music out. 
 There lives more faith in honest doubt, 
 Believe me, than in half the creeds. " 
 
 So, following his friend's example, he will fight 
 his doubts and gather strength, not blinding 
 his judgment. In this way he will arrive at 
 that power 
 
 " Which makes the darkness and the light, 
 And dwells not in the light alone." 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 (xcvii-ciii.) 
 
 The presence of the lost one^ as a universal spirit^ 
 begins to be felt, though only at times. The 
 old sore still easily opened. A happy ^ signifi- 
 cant dream. 
 
 That union with the universal which the 
 poet experienced in his trance, if it has not 
 convinced his understandinfr, has not 
 
 , XCVII. 
 
 been without its effect upon his feel- 
 ings. He now finds his love reflected from all 
 the world. 
 
 " My love has talk'd with rocks and trees ; 
 He finds on misty mountain-ground 
 His own vast shadow glory-crown'd ; 
 He sees himself in all he sees." 
 
 Toward his friend, who now lives, " in vastness 
 and in mystery," he feels like a wife who has 
 remained in the simple household ways of her 
 maidenhood, while her husband has risen to 
 heights of thought or science which she can- 
 not comprehend. 
 
 " She knows not what his greatness is ; 
 For this, for all, she loves him more." 
 
92 In Mcmoriam. 
 
 But, for all this, the sense of loss still re- 
 mains, ready to be galled by every 
 event that breaks in upon the quiet 
 tenor of life. Some one is going on a con- 
 tinental tour, in which he will visit Vienna. 
 This recalls the fact that the loved one died in 
 that city, and makes the old horror of it ran- 
 kle. The poet has never seen, will never see, 
 Vienna, which, despite all the glowing descrip- 
 tions of it he has heard, he is prepared to re- 
 gard as haunted by an evil fate. 
 
 The anniversary of his friend's death, though 
 
 ushered in with all the beauty of the autumn, 
 
 brings to him only cause for mourn- 
 
 XCIX . . • 
 
 ing. Still, it is no longer lonely 
 grief. To all those for whom the day brings 
 similar grief he feels that 
 
 " To-day they count as kindred souls ; 
 They know me not, but mourn with me." 
 
 The poet's family has to bid farewell to its 
 
 old home in Lincolnshire, and the 
 c. . 
 
 scenes amid which he has so often 
 
 wandered with his friend. The presence of 
 
 the dear one is everywhere : 
 
 ** I find no place that does not breathe 
 Some gracious memory of my friend." 
 
 " And, leaving these, to pass away, 
 I think once more he seems to die." 
 
 The old home will pass into new hands, 
 
CJiange of Scene. 93 
 
 which will have no pious care for the many 
 things interwoven with the poet's 
 most tender feelings — the garden, 
 the brook, the grove ; 
 
 " And year by year our memory fades 
 From all the circle of the hills." 
 
 He is bound to his native spot, not only by 
 the associations of a happy boyhood, 
 but also by the memories of blessed 
 hours passed there in converse with his friend, 
 and he cannot tell which tie is the stronger. 
 For a time they fight in his soul, but at last, 
 when he turns 
 
 " To leave the pleasant fields and farms ; 
 They mix in one another's arms 
 To one pure image of regret." 
 
 But on the night before leaving the old 
 home the poet has a Dantesque vis- 
 ion of his friend, which leaves a feel- 
 ing of contentment in his soul. He dreams 
 that he is dwelling in a " palace of art." In 
 the centre of this stands a statue, which, 
 though veiled, he recognizes to be his friend, 
 and before which maidens play and sing of all 
 that is "wise and good and graceful." Sud- 
 denly a dove flies in, bearing "a summons from 
 the sea." The maidens, learning that he must 
 go, " weep and wail," but accompany him to 
 a " little shallop " lying in the stream below. 
 The shallop glides down the stream, which 
 
94 -^^^ Memoriam. 
 
 ever widens between vaster-growing banks, and, 
 as it does so, the maidens gather strength, 
 grace, and majesty, while the poet feels in 
 himself 
 
 " the thews of Anakim,i 
 The pulses of a Titan's heart," 
 
 and power to sing the mightiest and deepest 
 of songs. At last they reach the great Ocean, 
 and see before them a great, splendid ship, 
 with the lost one standing on the deck. The 
 poet boards her, and falls in silence on the 
 neck of his friend ; whereat the maidens wail, 
 and upbraid him for deserting them, who had 
 so long faithfully served him. He is so rapt 
 that he pays no heed to them ; but his friend 
 bids them come aboard. They do so, 
 
 *' And while the wind began to sweep 
 A music out of sheet and shroud, 
 We steer'd her toward a crimson cloud 
 That landlike slept along the deep." 
 
 This dream was, doubtless, a real expe- 
 rience. Still, there is no mistaking its resem- 
 blance, in some points, to the Palace of Art ^ 
 in others, to Recollections of the Arabian Nights^ 
 and, in others still, to the Pas si?tg of Arthur. 
 No one has yet told us where our dreams come 
 from, or whether they all come from the same 
 source. Who shall tell us ? Dante, whose ex- 
 perience in such matters was deep and broad, 
 says : 
 
 1 Deuteron. ix. 2. 
 
A Happy Dream. 95 
 
 " O Fancy that dost steal us so at times 
 
 From outer things, that we are unaware 
 
 Though thousand trumpets round about us blare ! 
 
 What moveth thee, if sense afford thee naught ? 
 
 'T is light that moves thee, which in heaven takes 
 
 form, 
 Self-moved, or else thro' will that guides it down."i 
 
 He elsewhere speaks of the hour at which 
 
 " our mind, a pilgrim most 
 From flesh, and least enthralled by thoughts, 
 In power of vision is well-nigh divine." ^ 
 
 At all events, the poet can console himself 
 with the thought that, at the end of his earthly 
 career, he will meet, face to face, the friend 
 who has so long stood a veiled statue in the 
 halls of his soul, before whom every muse or 
 power of his spirit has made music, and that, 
 into the glorious ship of that new, double life, 
 these powers will accompany him in all their 
 integrity. 
 
 1 Purg., xvii. 13 sqq. 
 
 2 Purg., ix. 16 sqq. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 (civ-cxiv.) 
 
 Though our life at present is full of disappoint- 
 me?it and sorrow^ the poet will embrace it, and 
 let sorrow make hi7?i wise. The wisdo7?i buried 
 with his friend. Kjiowledge and Wisdojn. 
 
 Another Christmas finds the poet in a new 
 home, in which lie feels himself a 
 
 CIV 
 
 stranger. Here too the Christmas 
 bells ring ; but, alas ! 
 
 " Like strangers' voices here they sound, 
 In lands where not a memory strays, 
 Nor landmark breathes of other days, 
 But all is new unhallow'd ground." 
 
 Removal too "has broke the bond of dying 
 
 use." This year there shall be no 
 cv. . 
 
 Christmas celebration, no old-fash- 
 ioned merriment : 
 
 " For who would keep an ancient form 
 Thro' which the spirit breathes no more ? " 
 
 He will hold the night *' solemn to the past." 
 There shall be no dance or motion, save that 
 of the gleaming worlds which brighten in the 
 
Life accepted Anezv. 97 
 
 cloudless east, whose revolutions mark the 
 lapse of the ages. To these he prays : 
 " Run out your measured arcs and lead 
 The closing cycle rich in good." 
 
 When the midnight bells strike up, the poet 
 breaks forth into a song, exhorting 
 them to ring out the old epoch, with 
 all its sin, its strife, and its suffering, and ring 
 in the better time. In this noble song we 
 have a foretaste of that fierce arraignment of 
 the life of the present day which characterizes 
 some of the poet's later productions. Deeply 
 religious by nature, like his friend Carlyle, he 
 cannot reconcile himself to a life which, having 
 no eye for the spiritual world, and no ear for 
 the thunders of Sinai, takes a golden calf for 
 its God, and political economy for its moral 
 law. And yet that is the life which the great 
 majority of mankind in our day lead. No 
 wonder that he cries out, 
 
 " Ring out the darkness of the land; 
 Ring in the Christ that is to be." 
 
 Before we can ever again heartily celebrate 
 Christmas, we must have a new Christ. The 
 old one is dead, leaving the festival but an 
 empty form. Rather than be guilty 
 of the hypocrisy of adhering to it, 
 he will celebrate the birthday of his glorified 
 friend, that living ideal, which fills his soul 
 with aspiration after all good. 
 
98 In Memoriam. 
 
 " We keep the day. With festal cheer, 
 With books and music, surely we 
 Will drink to him, whate'er he be, 
 And sing the songs he loved to hear." 
 
 So, at least, he can be sincere. 
 
 But in spite of the materialism and wretched- 
 ness of the present life, he will not 
 CVIII. . 
 
 flee from it, shutting himself out from 
 
 his kind, like a hermit, or stiffening into stone 
 with grief, like Niobe. " Faith without works 
 is dead"; vacant aspiration utterly profitless. 
 However potent a man's yearning be, he can 
 imagine nothing in the highest heaven but his 
 " own phantom chanting hymns " ; nothing in 
 the deepest abyss of death but " the reflex of 
 a human face." ^ Instead of spending his days 
 in selfish, contemptuous seclusion, he will ac- 
 cept human life as he finds it, with all its 
 disappointments and sorrows. These will, at 
 least, teach him some of the wisdom which his 
 friend held in store. 
 
 " 'T is held that sorrow makes us wise, 
 Whatever wisdom sleep with thee." 
 
 1 Omar Khayyam has expressed this thought very 
 forcibly, though in a different spirit : 
 
 " I sent my Soul through the Invisible, 
 Some letter of the After-life to spell: 
 
 And by and by my Soul return'd to me, 
 And answer'd ' I Myself am Heav'n and Hell': 
 
 " Heav'n but the Vision of fulfill'd Desire, 
 And Hell the Shadow of a Soul on fir*-, 
 
 Cast on the Darkness, into which Ourselves, 
 So late emerg'd from, shall so soon expire." 
 
The Friend'' s Worth, 99 
 
 But, alas ! how much wisdom does so sleep ! 
 And he proceeds to describe, in words 
 such as only love can dictate, his 
 friend's intellect, eloquence, artistic insight, 
 lofty aspiration, moral purity, profound but 
 temperate love of freedom, and, last, his manly 
 tenderness : 
 
 " And manhood fused with female grace 
 In such a sort, the child would twine 
 A trustful hand, unask'd, in thine, 
 And find his comfort in thy face." 
 
 All these aspects of wisdom the poet has seen 
 and loved. Shall they remain without effect 
 upon him, merely because the bearer of them 
 has been removed from sight ? Surely not ; and 
 he goes on to describe the power exerted by 
 his friend's wisdom upon all classes 
 of men, old and young, weak and 
 strong, loyal and proud, the fawning hypocrite, 
 the stern, the flippant, the brazen fool, and 
 lastly upon himself, in whom it woke deep, un- 
 fathomable spiritual love 
 
 " that will not tire, 
 And, born of love, the vague desire 
 That spurs an imitative will." 
 
 All this wisdom was simple and genuine, the 
 outcome of a " high nature, amorous 
 
 CXI 
 
 of the good," no mere hypocrisy or 
 play-acting, such as the "churP in spirit" may 
 
 1 Eorlas and ceorlas, earls and churls, is the Anglo- 
 Saxon for "gentle and simple." 
 
100 hi Memoriam. 
 
 practise for fashion's sake. It was no mere 
 veneer covering a coarse, coltish nature, but 
 "the native growth of noble mind," of a soul 
 looking out from an eye 
 
 " Where God and Nature met in light ; 
 
 "And thus he bore without abuse 
 
 The grand old name of gentleman,^ 
 Defamed by every charlatan, 
 And soil'd with all ignoble use." 
 
 Having seen such a miracle of perfection, 
 such a "novel power," so unlike any- 
 thing else he has ever known, he 
 finds it hard to rise to any enthusiasm for the 
 " glorious insufficiencies " of other persons. 
 His friend was like a cloud-compelling Jove, 
 ruling the tempests of thought, and by faith 
 making serene the heaven of the soul. What 
 might not have been expected in the 
 
 CXI 1 1 
 
 future from such a man ? The thought 
 that Sorrow is the nurse of Wisdom does not 
 quite console the poet for the disappointed 
 hopes of the world. 
 
 " 'T is held that sorrow makes us wise ; 
 
 Yet how much wisdom sleeps with thee 
 Which not alone had guided me, 
 But served the seasons that may rise." 
 
 The " might-have-been " still looms up in glori- 
 ous regret-bringing proportions before him. 
 
 1 See note on p. 99. 
 
The Friend's Worth. loi 
 
 He sees his friend a pillar of state, the hero 
 of his age, by his example and energy guiding 
 humanity through tempest and shock of ration- 
 ahsm and revolt to a loftier plane of life, with 
 nobler issues. Here the poet clearly realizes 
 the nature of the conflict in which the world 
 is now engaged. It is a conflict between two 
 powers of the soul, understanding and faith, 
 or knowledge and wisdom. Faith or wisdom 
 has to embody itself in an institution with 
 symbolic observances, ere it can appeal to the 
 mass of mankind. Such an institution, if it is 
 not carefully watched, and its symbolism pre- 
 vented from being taken for the thing sym- 
 bolized, is sure to arrogate to itself divine 
 authority and encroach upon the institutions 
 of the understanding. In a word, the Church 
 continually tends to encroach upon the State, 
 in virtue of a pretended divine authority, and 
 the State under this influence continually tends 
 to claim authority by the grace of God. It 
 was against these tendencies that Dante wrote 
 his De Monarchia^ the first great political trea- 
 tise of the modern world, and directed the bit- 
 terest invectives of his Divine Comedy} It is 
 these tendencies that in recent times have 
 brought about Rationalism, that revolt of the 
 understanding against the higher reason. In 
 rebelling against the degenerate institutions of 
 
 1 See Parad., xxviii. 
 
102 /;/ Memoriam. 
 
 reason, the understanding has rebelled against 
 reason itself, and so men have lost hold of the 
 spiritual and the divine, and sought to content 
 themselves with the material and the animal. 
 This is the origin of the current philosophies, 
 falsely so called, of our time, Comtism, Spen- 
 cerism, and the rest, and of all the anarchic 
 ideas, social and political, which daily crop up 
 everywhere. Against these rationalistic and 
 materialistic philosophies and their implica- 
 tions, Tennyson, like Carlyle, has made a life- 
 long protest, proclaiming that Faith or Wisdom 
 is not to be confounded with the temporary in- 
 stitutions which claim to embody it, but is to 
 be embraced, hoarded, and tended, as man's 
 supreme treasure, though all institutions should 
 perish. It is the Christ that was and " the 
 Christ that is to be," "the Saviour of life unto 
 life." 
 
 No one, the poet admits, would think of 
 disparaging Knowledge, of railing 
 against her beauty, or of setting lim- 
 its to her progress in any region where she is 
 fitted to go. But, in her revolt against Faith, 
 she is like a vain, wanton boy that has just 
 escaped from his mother's apron-string. She 
 rushes heedlessly on 
 
 " And leaps into the future chance, 
 Submitting all things to desire." 
 
 And so, to quote from Mrs. Browning's de- 
 
Knowledge and Wisdom. 103 
 
 scription of the French, the votaries of Know- 
 ledge 
 
 " threaten conflagration to the world, 
 And rush with most unscrupulous logic on 
 Impossible practice." ^ 
 
 This must not be. Knowledge must learn her 
 place, learn that 
 
 " She is the second, not the first." ^ 
 
 She cannot attain any of those truths that give 
 value and meaning to life ; hence, unless life 
 is to lose its aim, she, who is the child of 
 the mind only, must consent to be guided by 
 Wisdom, the child of the whole soul Higher 
 and truer than any clear conclusion which the 
 understanding can draw from the physical 
 facts of Nature is the dim, half-formulated 
 conclusion which the soul draws in response 
 to its total experience physical and spiritual. 
 And the poet, addressing his friend, prays : 
 
 " I would the great world grew like thee, 
 Who grewest not alone in power 
 And knowledge, but by year and hour 
 In reverence and in charity." 
 
 1 Aurora Leigh, Bk. VI. 
 
 2 Compare Prologue, vv. 5-8, and the poem, ** Love 
 thou thy Land with Love far-brought." (v. 5.) 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 (cxv-cxxiv.) 
 
 The return of spriiig reawake?is hope, which soon 
 ripens irito faith and confide7ice. 
 
 Amid the new scenes into which the poet 
 
 has moved the spring returns, and 
 cxv 
 
 this time enters even into his breast 
 
 with its inspiring promise, making the deep 
 regret planted there blossom like an April 
 violet. But blossoming regret is not the only- 
 flower in the sprinsj-garden of the 
 
 CXVI 
 
 poet's heart. Faith and hope blos- 
 som too. The music, stir, and life of spring 
 
 " Cry thro' the sense to hearten trust 
 In that which made the world so fair." 
 
 Regret for the " days of happy commune dead " 
 is still there ; but it grows weak in proportion 
 as faith waxes strong. The past, with all its 
 rare, lost delights, fades, as the more glorious, 
 spiritual future, with still rarer delights, looms 
 up in the soul. In this mood he is 
 
 CXVII 
 
 ready to be grateful for the temporary 
 separation from his friend, since it will only 
 serve to make reunion more blissful. 
 
spring and Nature. 105 
 
 " O days and hours, your work is this, 
 To hold me from my proper place, 
 A little while from his embrace, 
 For fuller gain of after bliss." 
 
 Bliss is deepened by contrast with misery. 
 
 Nature, when he last consulted her, in his 
 dark mood (Iv., Ivi.), suggested only 
 thoughts of despair ; now, in his 
 brighter mood, he can draw from her sugges- 
 tions of hope. Then he had only regarded 
 the dead forms of Nature ; now, he contem- 
 plates the whole of her living process, and 
 finds that she is no feeble thing, but a " giant 
 laboring in his youth." Human love and 
 truth are part of that living process, and have 
 no resemblance to the " earth and lime " of 
 the fossil skeletons of extinct animals. The 
 bearers of this love and truth, though they 
 have left their dust behind them, and become 
 to us invisible, we may trust, 
 
 " Are breathers of an ampler day 
 For ever nobler ends." 
 
 The process of Nature is an endless develop- 
 ment from lower to higher ; and this process 
 accomplishes itself, not only in the race as a 
 whole, but in the individual, if he will only 
 take it up and realize it in himself : 
 " If so he type this work of time 
 
 " Within himself, from more to more." 
 But this is no easy task, to be achieved by a 
 
io6 hi Memoriam, 
 
 man who lies still like "idle ore." It demands 
 one who is prepared to be as 
 
 " iron dug from central gloom, 
 And heated hot with burning fears, 
 And dipt in baths of hissing tears, 
 And batter'd with the shocks of doom 
 
 " To shape and use." 
 
 Such a man will " move his course " 
 
 " crown'd with attributes of woe 
 Like glories." 
 
 And the poet calls upon men to 
 " Arise and fly 
 The reeling Faun, the sensual feast ; 
 Move upward, working out the beast. 
 And let the ape and tiger die." 
 
 Man's salvation depends upon his becoming a 
 microcosm, and realizing the whole universe 
 and all the process of it within himself; for 
 only the universal is eternal. 
 
 " Our wills are ours, we know not how; 
 Our wills are ours, to make them thine." i 
 
 In this exalted frame of mind, he can now 
 return with delight to the old home 
 of his friend. 
 
 1 Prologue, V. 4. Compare Swinburne's lines : 
 " Unto each man his handiwork, unto each his crown 
 The just Fate gives; 
 Whoso takes upon him the world's life, and his own lays down, 
 He, dying so, lives." 
 
 Super Flumina Babylonis. 
 
Conditions of Immortality. 107 
 
 " Not as one who weeps 
 I come once more." 
 
 He no longer finds " the long unlovely street " 
 (vii.) ; no longer 
 
 " ghastly thro' the drizzlmg rain 
 On the bald street breaks the blank day." 
 
 He can now "smell the meadow in the street," 
 and feel all the charm of awakening nature j 
 
 " And m my thoughts with scarce a sigh 
 I take the pressure of thine hand." 
 
 After much struggle with doubt born of 
 
 sorrow, the poet has at last come 
 
 cxx 
 back to entire conviction of the truth 
 
 of immortality. The law of justice revealed 
 
 in his own soul proclaims the annihilation of 
 
 that which has love and faith to be a moral 
 
 absurdity. The materialistic philosophy of 
 
 Locke and his followers, which rules our time 
 
 and claims to be confirmed by science, is a 
 
 cruel error based upon imperfect thinking. 
 
 The spiritual is not a mere function of the 
 
 material, a harmony of nerve-fibres. It is the 
 
 true reality, to which the material is but a 
 
 vision^ As Thomas Aquinas so well puts it, 
 
 " The soul is not in the body as the contained, 
 
 but as the container." ^ If science could prove 
 
 1 Stini. ThcoL, I. q. 52, art. i. Compare Carlyle's in- 
 dignant protest : " Can the Earth, which is but dead 
 and a vision, resist Spirits, which have reality and are 
 alive ?"— ^^r/^r Resartus, Bk. III. chap. viii. 
 
io8 /;/ Mcmoriam. 
 
 that we are "wholly brain, magnetic mock- 
 eries," " cunning casts in clay," then what 
 would be the use of science to such transient 
 phantoms ? Such a thing may be good for 
 apes ; but no man with the aspirations of a 
 man would tolerate it. Death, which so fright- 
 ens the timid soul, is but as the even- 
 
 CXXI 
 
 ing-star sinking below the horizon, to 
 rise again with renewed vigor and freshness, 
 as the morning-star, to usher in a new dawn. 
 Hesper and Phosphor are the same star in 
 different places. One is here reminded of 
 Sappho's beautiful line, 
 
 " Hesper, thou bringest all that the glimmering Dawn 
 dispersed " ; ^ 
 
 and of Plato's elegiacs, so exquisitely rendered 
 by Shelley : 
 
 " Thou wert the morning star among the living, 
 Ere thy fair light had fled : — 
 Now, having died, thou art as Hesperus, giving 
 New splendor to the dead." ''^ 
 
 The poet can now revert with faith to his 
 trance (xcv.), which was "cancell'd, 
 
 CXXII 
 
 stricken thro' with doubt." He can 
 believe that in that wonderful experience, 
 wherein he became conscious of the all-pervad- 
 
 1 picrnepe, navra. 0epei? ocra (/)atVoAi? ecTKeSaa Avuii;. 
 
 Frag. 95 (Bergk). - 
 
 2 'Ao-njp Trpii/ ixev eAa/ixTres evl ^u>OLCrii' 'EoJos, 
 viiu Se 6av(ov ActjUTret? 'Ea-rrepos ev <^9ifxei/o.g. 
 
 Epigr. IS (Bergk). 
 
Faith Restored. IC9 
 
 ing law of the universe, his soul was really 
 wrapt round by that of his friend. If so, he 
 begs him to come to him now, invading heart 
 and head : 
 
 " And enter in at breast and brow," 
 
 so that, in the enthusiasm of a vernal faith, 
 " as in the former flash of joy " (xcv. 9), he 
 may rise above the phenomenal world of life 
 and death, into the world of pure, eternal 
 ideas, the souls and sources of all glory and 
 all beauty. From that watch-tower of the 
 angels he can look calmly upon the 
 
 CXXIII. 
 
 world of change, and defy its cruel 
 suggestions. He was wrong in questioning 
 Nature at all respecting the spirit's destiny. 
 To her spirit means but breath ; 
 
 " But in my spirit will I dwell, 
 
 And dream my dream, and hold it true ; 
 For tho' my lips may breathe adieu, 
 I cannot think the thing farewell." 
 
 At last he sees that the annihilation of a self- 
 conscious spirit is utterly unthinkable. But it 
 is not in nature or to the understanding that 
 this is revealed ; it is in spirit and to 
 
 CXXIV. 
 
 faith. Nay, it is only there that God 
 Himself is to be discovered. 
 
 " I found Him not in world or sun, 
 Or eagle's wing, or insect's eye ; 
 Nor thro' the questions men may try, 
 The petty cobwebs we have spun." 
 
no /;/ Memoriani. 
 
 Nay, the understanding cannot even tell 
 whether God is to be thought as " He, They, 
 One," or " All," whether as '' within " or " with- 
 out." In other words, it cannot decide be- 
 tween Theism, Polytheism, Monotheism, and 
 Pantheism,^ or tell us whether God is imma- 
 nent or transcendent. It is in the heart that 
 God is to be found. When the understanding 
 says there is no God, or that God is beyond 
 human apprehension, the heart rises up " like 
 a man in wrath," — "no, like a child in doubt 
 and fear," and answers : " ' I have felt,' " that 
 is, I have had experience, which no bugbears 
 of nature or subtleties of understanding can 
 ever make me disown or discredit. The very 
 rebellion of the heart against the head, of 
 reason against understanding, is the work of 
 the God within or present : 
 
 " that blind clamor made me wise ; 
 Then was I as a child that cries, 
 But, crying, knows his father near ; 
 
 " And what I am - beheld again 
 
 "What is, and no man understands ; 
 
 1 Goethe, writing to Jacobi in 1813, says: "I, for 
 my part, with the manifold tendencies of my nature, do 
 not find one aspect of the divine enough. As a poet, I 
 am a polytheist ; as an investigator of nature, I am a 
 pantheist, and both in the same degree. If I require a 
 personal God for my per sociality as a moral being, this 
 also is provided for in my 77iental constitution.'''' 
 
 - The earlier editions read ' seem ' for ' am ' here. 
 
Under standing and Reason. 1 1 1 
 
 And out of darkness came the hands 
 That reach thro' nature, moulding men." 
 
 The deep intuition which tells us that things are 
 as they are (for example, that the will is free) 
 is not to be shaken or undermined by the im- 
 potence of the understanding to comprehend 
 how or why they are as they are. Under- 
 standing in all cases makes an appeal to the 
 imagination, and within the jurisdiction of that 
 the things of the spirit do not come. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 (cxxv-cxxxi.) 
 
 Faith, Hope, and Love all intact. The greatest 
 is Love, without which Faith would be weak. 
 
 Hope being now restored, the poet recog- 
 nizes that, in all his dark surmisino^s, 
 
 cxxv. 
 
 he has never really lost her : 
 
 " She did but look thro' dimmer eyes ; 
 Or Love but play'd with gracious lies,i 
 Because he felt so fix'd in truth." 
 
 But whatever he may have said or sung was 
 inspired by the spirit of the matchless friend, 
 who, he now knows, will be with him until they 
 embrace again on "the mystic deeps," on the 
 deck of that great ship which steers across the 
 ocean of eternity (ciii.). In all that he 
 
 CXXVI 
 
 has done, or yet does, Love has been 
 his Lord and King,^ and, under the guardian- 
 
 ^ Compare Dante's definition of allegory — "a truth 
 hidden under a beautiful lie." [Feast, Tr. II. chap, i.) 
 
 2 Dante speaking of his first meeting with Beatrice, 
 says : " From that time on I say that Love was Lord of 
 my soul, which was thus early wedded to him, and he 
 began to assume such assurance and such lordship over 
 
TJie Christian Graces intact. 1 1 3 
 
 ship of that king, he can sleep securely through 
 the darkness of this flesh-blinded mortal life, 
 
 "And hear at times a sentinel 
 
 Who moves about from place to place, 
 And whispers to the worlds of space, 
 In the deep night, that all is well. 
 
 " And all is well, tho' faith and form 
 Be sunder'd in the night of fear." 
 
 " We walk by faith, and not by form." The 
 faith which belono^s to the reason has, 
 
 CXXVII 
 
 in these dark times of ours, been sun- 
 dered from the form which belongs to the un- 
 derstanding. Our hearts are at war with our 
 heads. Our hearts imperiously demand justice 
 and ultimate good for all ; our heads are puz- 
 zled when we see injustice triumphing and 
 thousands of our fellow beings, who have 
 fought for justice, perishing in what seems a 
 hopeless struggle. But it is only to our con- 
 tracted vision that it seems hopeless. If we 
 would but open the ears of Faith, we should 
 hear " a deeper voice across the storm " of 
 convulsion, proclaiming the ultimate triumph 
 
 me, through the power which my imagination gave him, 
 that I was obliged to do all his pleasure completely." 
 N'eiv Life, chap. i. In many other places of this book 
 Dante speaks of Love as his Lord. Compare Purgatoiy, 
 xxiv. 52 sqq. 
 
 " I am one who, when 
 
 Love breathes, record, and in whatever mood 
 
 He dictates in my heart, I signify." 
 
114 In Mc7}ioriani. 
 
 of truth and justice, no matter if three more 
 French Revolutions, each bloodier than an- 
 other, should have to be passed through first. 
 True, the times look threatening for that order 
 of things which produced the king and the 
 beggar, the extremes of wealth and poverty. 
 " The great ^on " of " social lies that warp 
 us from the living truth," 
 
 " sinks in blood, 
 " And compass'd by the fires of Hell " ; 
 
 but the glorified friend, who looks at the tu- 
 mult from the heights of divine vision, smiles, 
 '■'' knowing dXS. is well," not merely believing it. 
 And so would each of us, if we could reach 
 those heights. 
 
 It would be hard to find a better commentary 
 upon this passage than the closing words of 
 Progress and Poverty : " Though Truth and 
 Right seem often overborne, we may not see 
 it all. How can we see it all ? . . . Shall we 
 say that what passes from our sight passes 
 into oblivion ? No ; not into oblivion. Far, 
 far beyond our ken the eternal laws must hold 
 their sway. 
 
 "The hope that rises in the heart of all 
 religions ! The poets have sung it, the seers 
 have told it, and in its deepest pulses the 
 heart of man throbs responsive to its truth. 
 This that Plutarch said is what in all times 
 
Ultimate Triumph of yustice. 1 1 5 
 
 and in all tongues has been said by the pure- 
 hearted and strong-sighted, who, standing, as 
 it were, on the mountain-tops of thought and 
 looking over the shadowy ocean, have beheld 
 the loom of land : 
 
 " ' Men's souls, encompass'd here with bod- 
 ies and passions, have no communication with 
 God, except what they can reach to in concep- 
 tion only, by means of philosophy as a kind 
 of obscure dream. But, when they are loosed 
 from the body and removed into the unseen, 
 invisible, impassible, and pure region, this God 
 is then their leader and king ; they there, as it 
 were, hanging on Him wholly, and beholding 
 without weariness and passionately affecting 
 that beauty which cannot be expressed or 
 uttered by men.' " 
 
 What, then, is it that reconciles Understand- 
 ing: and Faith ? What has enabled 
 
 CXXVIII. 
 
 the poet to see the world of the Un- 
 derstanding through the eyes of Faith 1 It is 
 Love, Love strong enough to conquer Death, 
 and dispel his phantoms. In conquering 
 Death, Love has taken away the prestige of 
 the Understanding, which proclaims Death as 
 the Lord of all things, and has handed over 
 the victory to its weaker brother, "the lesser 
 faith." ^ And victory in one point is victory 
 
 1 But now abideth faith, hope, love, these three ; and 
 the greatest of these is love. — i Corinth, xiii. 13. 
 
1 1 6 In Memoriam. 
 
 in all. Faith, thus enthroned, is able to see 
 one consistent purpose in the universe. The 
 epochs of history are not merely so many aim- 
 less processions round the same weary race- 
 course, so many variations of an old theme 
 compounded of strife, delusion, schism, mum- 
 mery, revolution, pedantry, and sentimentality.-^ 
 If they were, they would deserve only scorn. 
 But, says the faith-enlightened poet, 
 
 " I see in part 
 That all, as in some piece of art, 
 Is toil cooperant to an end." 
 
 This, then, if we may so speak, is the philo- 
 sophical theory of I?i Mejnoriam. That higher 
 insight which we call faith, and upon which 
 we depend for the most vital truths, is feeble 
 when dissociated from love. Only through 
 love strong enough to burn away the last 
 shred of passion and, becoming purely spirit- 
 ual, to lay hold upon the eternal in its object 
 can the power of the death-threatening under- 
 standing be S"ubdued, and man become con- 
 vinced that in the universe " all is well " for- 
 ever, that his deepest and noblest aspirations 
 will find satisfaction in eternity. It is through 
 love that man rises to faith, and through faith 
 that he rises to God, "from whom is every 
 
 1 One calls to mind here the saying of Herakleitos : 
 " The .^on is a child playing at draughts : to a child 
 belongs the sovereignty." (Frag., Ixxix. edit. By water.) 
 
Love, FaitJi, God. 1 1 7 
 
 good and perfect gift." This seems to be the 
 last word of all the great philosophical poems 
 of the world. It is the last word of that great 
 drama, the philosophical system of Plato ; ^ it 
 is the last word of Dante's Divine Comedy ;'^ it 
 is the last word of Goethe's Faust ;^ yea, it is 
 the last word of that great world-epic, the 
 Christian religion, as embodied in its true dis- 
 ciples.'* It follows that the greatest loss which 
 can befall a human being is the loss of love. 
 
 Strong in love-begotten faith, the poet now 
 addresses his friend as an omnipres- 
 
 CXXIX 
 
 ent spirit, far off, yet near; known, 
 yet unknown ; human, yet divine ; dead, yet 
 immortal ; lost, yet eternally his — " Mine, 
 mine forever, ever mine." He is now "loved 
 deeplier, darklier understood," loved most 
 when good is most clearly distinguished from 
 evil. Like Dante's Beatrice, he has become a 
 spiritual form for the divine itself, the form 
 suited to the poet's particular need. 
 
 " Behold, I dream a dream of good, 
 And mingle all the world with thee." 
 
 The divine loveliness takes as many forms as 
 
 ^ See Lysis, Phaidros, Symposion, etc. 
 
 2 " Ma gi^ volgeva il mio disiro e '1 velle, 
 
 Si come ruota che igualmente e mossa, 
 
 L' Amor che muove il Sole e I'altre stelle." 
 
 3 " Das Ewig-Weibliche 
 
 Zieht uns hinan." 
 
 * He that loveth not knoweth not God ; for God is 
 love. — I John iv. 8. 
 
Il8 Li Memo7'iam. 
 
 there are hearts, and " he that loves not a 
 brother whom he hath seen, cannot love God 
 whom he hath not seen." 
 
 The lost one, now realized as having as- 
 cended from flesh to spirit,^ from 
 cxxx . 
 
 space and time to infinity and eter- 
 nity, is recognized as a diffusive power in the 
 whole of nature, — not understood, but felt 
 and loved deeply, darkly. 
 
 " My love involves the love before ; 
 My love is vaster passion now ; 
 Tho' mix'd with God and Nature thou, 
 I seem to love thee more and more." '^ 
 
 The poem closes with a prayer, than which 
 there is nothing more nobly religious 
 in all literature. It is addressed, not 
 to any external God, but to the God within, to 
 that " heaven-descended," " living Will," which 
 is the essence of human personality, and which 
 will endure 
 
 " When all that seems shall suffer shock," ^ 
 
 when the phenomenal world of sense shall be 
 rolled up like a scroll. The poet calls upon it 
 to rise, like a fountain, in the " spiritual rock," 
 to "How thro' our deeds and make them pure," 
 
 1 Dante, Ptn-g., xxx. 127. 
 
 2 Compare Prologue, v. 10. 
 
 " I trust he lives in thee, and there 
 I find him worthier to be loved." 
 
 3 Compare the poem entitled Will. 
 
Love Spiriticalizcd. 119 
 
 so that we may be able to rise above the 
 mechanical world of dust, into a moral world 
 of spirit, there to enter into conscious rela- 
 tions with the Infinite, the source of all life and 
 action, and, through a faith born of self-con- 
 trol, may trust "the truths that never can be 
 proved," until, in boundless love, we embrace, 
 and become one with, the Absolute Love. 
 Then we shall see 
 
 " internalized, 
 By Love into a single volume bound, 
 All that is outered in the universe." ^ 
 
 Then all the powers of the spirit will be 
 gathered into a 
 
 " Light intellectual, filled full of love, 
 
 Love of true good, filled full of joyfulness, 
 A joyfulness transcending all things sweet." '-^ 
 
 1 Dante, Parad., xxxiii. 85 sqq. 
 
 2 Ibid., XXX. 40 sqq. This verse was a favorite with 
 Arthur Hallam. See his Remains, p. 145. 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 Epilogue. 
 
 The New Life, full of Joy afid assurance. The 
 Divine Process. Conclusion. 
 
 The poet's moral world is now completely 
 restored. He can act with assurance, as a 
 man among men. He is happy. In this 
 mood he celebrates the wedding of his sister 
 Cecilia to Edmund Law Lushington, in a kind 
 of Epithalamium, which forms an appropriate 
 Epilogue to the poem. It is a picture of the 
 New Life that has triumphed over death and 
 doubt. Without it, the work would be incom- 
 plete. In the marriage of his sister the poet 
 sees revealed that world-process by which Love 
 lifts man out of sense and passion into spiritu- 
 ality and self-devotion — up to the measure of 
 divine manhood, of which his friend was a type 
 and an earnest. That friend now lives in God, 
 who is life and love — 
 
 " That God, which ever lives and loves, 
 One God, one law, one element, 
 And one far-off divine event, 
 To which the whole creation moves." 
 
New Life. I2i 
 
 Much might be said of these lines, which ex- 
 press the poet's view of what is deepest in the 
 universe. By speaking of God as "which," he 
 piously refrains from attributing to him person- 
 ahty in any form that would mean anything to 
 us. No better commentary on this could be 
 found than the following passage from Emer- 
 son's diary : " I say that I cannot find, when I 
 explore my own consciousness, any truth in 
 saying that God is a person, but the reverse. 
 I feel that there is some profanation in saying 
 that he is personal. To represent him as an 
 individual is to shut him out of my conscious- 
 ness. He is then but a great man, such as 
 the crowd worships. The natural motions of 
 the soul are so much better than the voluntary 
 ones that you will never do yourself justice in 
 dispute. The thought is not then taken hold 
 of ' by the right handle ' ; does not show itself 
 proportioned and in its true bearings. It 
 bears extorted, hoarse, and half witness. I 
 have been led, yesterday, into a rambling ex- 
 culpatory talk on theism. I say that here we 
 feel at once that we have no language ; that 
 words are only auxiliary and not adequate, are 
 suggestions and not copies of our cogitation. 
 I deny personality to God because it is too 
 little, not too much. Life, personal life, is 
 faint and cold to the energy of God. For 
 Reason and Love and Beauty, or that which 
 
122 In Menioriarn. 
 
 is all these, — it is the life of life, the reason 
 of reason, the love of love." -^ 
 
 In speaking of God as Life, Law, Element, 
 and End, the poet is a faithful disciple of 
 Aristotle ; for these are neither more nor less 
 than that philosopher's four grounds or causes 
 (atrtat), without which nothing could exist at 
 all. They are known familiarly as (i) the 
 efficient cause, (2) the formal cause, (3) the 
 material cause, and (4) the final cause. In 
 the phenomenal world they are, or may be, 
 sundered : in God they are united. The poet, 
 moreover, follows his master in making life 
 the fundamental cause. Aristotle says : " The 
 energy of Mind ivovi) is life, and He is that 
 energy. And self-energy is His best and eter- 
 nal life. We say that God is living, eternal, 
 best, so that life and an aeon, perpetual and 
 eternal, belong to God. For this is God." * 
 
 In this last verse of his poem the poet has 
 taken a formal leave of the modern material- 
 istic schools of thought dating from Locke, 
 which deny the existence of teleology in the 
 world, and has definitely ranged himself on 
 the side of that spiritual philosophy which, 
 since the days of Sokrates, has accompanied 
 and inspired the march of civilization, point- 
 ing out its goal. He stands with Sokrates, 
 
 1 Cabot's Memoh' of Ralph Waldo E',.ierson, p. 341. 
 
 2 Metaph., xii. 7 ; \0']2b 26 sqq. 
 
Conclusion. 123 
 
 Plato, Aristotle, Philo, Plotinus, Porphyry, 
 Thomas, Bonaventura, Rosmini ; not with 
 Locke, Hume, Kant, Fichte, Schelling, Hegel, 
 Comte, Spencer. He holds that our life is 
 from God to God, not from dirt to dirt, even 
 though dirt be called Idea. 
 
 But in one point, and it is a most essen- 
 tial one, the poet goes beyond Aristotle, and 
 includes in his God, yea, in the life of his 
 God, an element which comes from Christian 
 thought, and which is the fundamental char- 
 acteristic of it — Love. The energy of the 
 Christian god is not merely life ; it is also 
 and especially love. "God is Love." He is 
 a god " which ever lives and /o7'es:' It is 
 this addition that has given Christianity all its 
 force and enabled it to transform the world : 
 this, and this alone. It was, indeed, a won- 
 drous new insight which could recognize that 
 the very energy of life itself is love, that Love 
 governs the world; that that which does not 
 love is dead, however it may be galvanized 
 into a semblance of life. As the late Professor 
 Green puts it : " As the primary Christian idea 
 is that of a moral death unto life, as wrought 
 for us and in us by God, so its realization, 
 which is the evidence of its truth, lies in 
 Christian love — a realization never complete, 
 because forever embracing new matter, yet 
 constantly gaining in fulness." ^ 
 
 1 T^.e Witness of God, Works, vol. iii. pp. 236 sq. 
 
124 In Memo riant. 
 
 It does not now seem difficult to sum up 
 Tennyson's moral, life-shaping world-view : 
 God is all in all, Life, Love, Law, Substance, 
 End. As Love, He is self-diffusive,^ creating 
 the world. Human love is a manifestation 
 of the divine love, a portion of that eternal 
 energy forever working itself into a unitary, 
 yet manifold, blessed self-consciousness, which 
 is the 
 
 " one far-off divine event 
 To which the whole creation moves." 
 
 If we would be co-workers in this process, and 
 share in its completion, we must, in self-sacri- 
 ficing love, yield up our wills to the divine 
 will. In such self-sacrifice and " self-control " 
 Faith will grow till it sees God, whom Love 
 will then embrace and absorb. Then the soul 
 will feel and say to itself, " I and the Father 
 are one." " We must each become first a man, 
 then a god."^ Through will we become the 
 one ; through love, the other. 
 
 1 St. Bonaventura says finely : " Bomim est diffiisrimm 
 sui''^ (Good is self-diffusive). 
 
 ^ TlpSiTov ovv 6.v0p()3-Kov 56? yeveadai, Tore Se 6e6v. 
 Hierokles, Commentary to T/ie Golden Verses. 
 
INDEX TO IN MEMORIAM. 
 
INDEX TO IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 Dde 
 
 Stan. 
 
 Ode Stan. age 
 
 
 
 A. 
 
 73- 
 
 3- 
 
 In endless rt:. 
 
 
 
 ABIDE (z/^r^) 
 
 
 
 AGONY 
 
 58. 
 
 3- 
 
 yl . a little longer here 
 
 "3- 
 
 5- 
 
 With agonies, with en- 
 
 25. 
 
 4- 
 
 A didmg- with me till I 
 sail 
 
 
 
 ergies 
 
 AIR 
 
 
 
 ABUSE 
 
 9- 
 
 3- 
 
 no ruder a. perplex 
 
 II. 
 
 6. 
 
 he bore without a. 
 
 12. 
 
 33- 
 
 4- 
 I. 
 
 circle moaning in the a. 
 reach'd a purer a. 
 
 
 
 ABYSS 
 
 86. 
 
 j_ 
 
 ambrosial a. 
 
 76. 
 
 2. 
 
 secular a. to come 
 
 89. 
 
 2. 
 
 to all the liberal a. 
 
 
 
 89. 
 
 4. 
 
 drink the cooler a. 
 
 
 
 ACT (noun) 
 
 94- 
 
 3- 
 
 like a cloudless a. 
 
 85- 
 
 10. 
 
 How much of a. at 
 
 lOI. 
 
 2. 
 
 the humming a. 
 
 
 
 human hands 
 
 116. 
 
 2. 
 
 the stirring a. 
 
 
 
 ACT {z>er5) 
 
 130. 
 
 I. 
 
 the rolling a. 
 
 II. 
 
 3- 
 
 who can always a. 
 
 
 
 ALLOWANCE 
 
 
 
 
 51- 
 
 4. 
 
 To make a. for us all 
 
 
 
 ACTION 
 
 
 
 20. 
 
 3. 
 
 shape His a. like the 
 
 
 
 ALTAR-FIRE 
 
 
 
 greater ape 
 
 41. 
 
 I. 
 
 the heavenward a. 
 
 
 
 ADIEU 
 
 
 
 ALTAR-STAIRS 
 
 57- 
 
 4- 
 
 A. a. for evermore 
 
 55- 
 
 4- 
 
 the great world's a. 
 
 ANAKIM. 
 
 27. 
 
 4- 
 
 .«0N 
 
 the great ^. sinks in 
 blood 
 
 103. 
 
 8. 
 
 the thews of A. 
 
 ANCHOR 
 
 
 
 
 103. 
 
 S- 
 
 At a. in the flood 
 
 
 
 AFFECTION 
 
 
 
 8S- 
 
 19. 
 
 My old a. of the tomb 
 
 
 
 ANGEL 
 
 85. 
 
 20. 
 
 My old a. of the tomb 
 
 44. 
 
 4- 
 
 My guardian a. 
 a. of the night 
 
 94. 
 
 I. 
 
 With what dixinea^ec- 
 
 69. 
 
 4' 
 
 
 
 tions bold 
 
 
 
 ANGLE 
 
 
 
 AFTER-HEAT 
 
 89. 
 
 10. 
 
 rub each other's angles 
 down 
 
 81. 
 
 3- 
 
 might have drawn 
 
 
 
 
 
 from a. 
 
 
 
 ANGUISH 
 
 
 
 AFTER-MORN 
 
 19. 
 
 4- 
 
 My deeper a. 
 
 03. 
 
 I. 
 
 left my a. content 
 
 56. 
 
 7- 
 
 ANSWER {llOUti) 
 
 What hope of a. 
 
 
 
 AFTER-NOON 
 
 85. 
 
 4- 
 
 A faithful a. 
 
 89. 
 
 7. 
 
 in the all-golden a. 
 
 103. 
 
 13. 
 
 An a. from my lips 
 
126 
 
 hidex. 
 
 
 
 ANSWER (z/fri5) 
 
 
 
 ASH {0/ decay) 
 
 21. 
 
 3. 
 
 Another atiswers "let 
 
 18. 
 
 I. 
 
 from his ashes 
 
 
 
 him be " 
 
 34- 
 
 I. 
 
 dust and ashes 
 
 102. 
 
 4- 
 
 The other answers 
 
 
 
 ASSOCIATION 
 
 
 
 APE 
 
 lOI. 
 
 5- 
 
 fresh a. blow 
 
 ii8. 
 
 7- 
 
 let the a. and tiger die 
 
 
 
 ASSUMPTION 
 
 120. 
 
 3- 
 
 action like the greater a. 
 
 APPEAL 
 
 63. 
 
 ^• 
 
 its ass2anptio7is up to 
 heaven 
 
 56- 
 
 2. 
 
 makest thine a. to me 
 
 
 
 AUTUMN 
 
 92. 
 
 1. 
 
 spake and made a. 
 
 APPLAUSE 
 
 85. 
 
 18 
 
 .<4. with a noise of 
 rooks 
 
 51- 
 
 2. 
 
 he for whose a. I strove 
 
 APRIL 
 
 99- 
 
 3 
 
 A. laying here and 
 there 
 
 AVE 
 
 22. 
 
 2. 
 
 From A.oxxXo A. went 
 
 57- 
 
 4- 
 
 A. A. A. said 
 
 40. 
 
 2. 
 
 Make A . of her tender 
 
 
 116. 
 
 
 eyes 
 in sweet A. wakes 
 
 ARC 
 
 122. 
 
 2. 
 
 AWE 
 
 in placid a. 
 
 105. 
 
 7- 
 
 your measured arcs 
 
 ARCADY 
 
 
 
 B. 
 
 BABE 
 
 23- 
 
 6. 
 
 many a flute of A. 
 
 ARK 
 
 40. 
 
 7- 
 
 And bring her <5. 
 
 BABY 
 
 12. 
 
 2. 
 
 leave this mortal a. 
 
 ARM 
 
 45- 
 
 I. 
 
 The b. new to earth 
 
 BACK 
 
 13- 
 
 I. 
 
 moves his doubtful arms 
 
 25. 
 
 I. 
 
 burden for the b. 
 
 21. 
 
 S- 
 
 reaches forth her arms 
 
 
 
 
 95- 
 
 4- 
 
 Laid their dark arms 
 
 
 
 BALL 
 
 95- 
 
 13- 
 
 Laid their dark ar^ns 
 
 III. 
 
 I. 
 
 grasps a golden ^. 
 
 102. 
 
 6. 
 
 mix in one another's 
 arvis 
 
 
 
 BALLAD 
 
 
 
 ARROW 
 
 89. 
 
 7- 
 
 and flung A b. 
 
 87. 
 
 7- 
 
 aim an a. fair 
 
 
 
 BAND 
 
 101. 
 
 4- 
 
 into silver arrmvs 
 break 
 
 93- 
 
 I. 
 
 ever break the b. 
 
 BANK 
 
 
 
 ART 
 
 103. 
 
 6. 
 
 bluff that made the 
 
 37- 
 
 4- 
 
 owning but a little a. 
 
 
 
 baulks 
 
 49. 
 
 
 From a. from nature 
 
 107. 
 
 I. 
 
 purple-frosty b. 
 
 87. 
 
 6! 
 
 on mind and a. 
 
 
 
 
 110. 
 
 4- 
 
 the Christian «. 
 
 
 
 BANQUET 
 
 128. 
 
 6. 
 
 in some piece of a. 
 
 89. 
 
 S. 
 
 With b. in the distant 
 woods 
 
 
 
 ARTHUR 
 
 107. 
 
 2. 
 
 To deck the b. 
 
 9- 
 
 I. 
 
 my lost A rth^tr's loved 
 
 
 
 BAR 
 
 
 
 remains 
 
 
 
 9. 
 
 5- 
 
 My A. whom I shall 
 
 64. 
 
 2. 
 
 his birth's invidious b. 
 
 
 
 not see 
 
 87. 
 
 10. 
 
 The b. of Michael An- 
 
 89. 
 
 2. 
 
 My A. found your 
 
 
 
 gelo 
 
 
 
 shadows fair 
 
 lOI. 
 
 3- 
 
 many a sandy b. 
 
 
 
 ASH {tree) 
 
 
 
 BARENESS 
 
 100. 
 
 3- 
 
 knoll of a. and haw 
 
 128. 
 
 5- 
 
 make old b. picturesque 
 
Index. 
 
 127 
 
 17- 
 Pro. 
 
 27. 
 118. 
 
 34- 
 114. 
 
 BARK 
 
 1. within a helmless b. 
 
 3. like the unhappy d. 
 
 4. spare thee, sacred b. 
 
 BARRICADE 
 
 2. pile her barricades 
 
 BARRIER 
 
 4. to burst All barriers 
 
 BASE 
 
 4. The bases of my life 
 
 BASENESS 
 
 1. Is there no b. 
 
 2. b. of her lot 
 
 BASTION 
 
 5. A looming b. 
 
 BAT 
 
 3. bats went round 
 
 BATH 
 
 6. bat/ts of hissing tears 
 
 BB (verb) 
 3. He is not here 
 3. For all is dark 
 
 I a7n so much more 
 perchance art more 
 wheresoever those may 
 be 
 
 BEACH 
 
 breaking on the b. 
 
 BEACON 
 
 like a b. guards thee 
 home 
 
 BEAM 
 
 A b. in darkness 
 BEAR (verb) 
 
 bore thee where I could 
 not see 
 
 BEARING 
 
 the b. of a word 
 
 BEAST 
 
 I envy not the b. 
 working out the b. 
 
 BEAT (verb) 
 makes me b. so low 
 
 BEAUTY 
 
 Fantastic b. 
 
 rail Against her b. 
 
 BECKON {verb) 
 14. 2. beckoning- unto those 
 
 BECOME (verb) 
 40. 4. Becoming as is meet 
 
 67. I. 
 67. 3. 
 
 84. 12. 
 
 7. 2. 
 124. 6. 
 
 85. II. 
 Ep. 31, 
 
 Pro. I 
 
 28. 
 
 28. 
 
 28. 
 
 57- 
 104. 
 104. 
 106. 
 106. 
 Ep. 
 
 86. 4- 
 98. I. 
 
 When on my b. 
 From off my b. 
 
 will gather 
 
 BEECH 
 
 that b. 
 brown 
 
 BEGINNING 
 
 beginjiirigs of content 
 BEHOLD (verb) 
 B. me, for I cannot 
 
 sleep 
 what I am beheld 
 
 BEING 
 
 His b. working 
 strike his b. into 
 bounds 
 
 BELIEVE 
 
 Believing where we 
 cannot prove 
 
 BELL 
 
 rings the gateway b. 
 I hear the b. 
 The Christmas bells 
 heard those bells again 
 bells of Yule 
 One set slow b. 
 single peal of bells 
 the bells I know 
 Ring out, wild bells 
 Ring, happy bells 
 trembles to the bells 
 
 BELT 
 
 From b. to b. 
 summer belts of wheat 
 
 BIER 
 
 with b. and pall 
 
 BIRD 
 
 birds the charming ser- 
 pent draws 
 Wild b. whose warble 
 sea-blue b. of March 
 voices of the birds 
 love-language of the b. 
 happy birds 
 chirp of birds 
 the wakeful b. 
 
128 
 
 Index. 
 
 
 
 BIRTH 
 
 
 
 BLOW 
 
 64. 
 
 2. 
 
 his birih^s invidious 
 
 64. 
 
 2. 
 
 blows of circumstance 
 
 
 
 bar 
 
 85- 
 95. 
 
 14. 
 II. 
 
 broke the (5. 
 blows of death 
 
 
 
 BITTERNESS 
 
 
 
 
 84. 
 
 12. 
 
 The old ^. again 
 
 
 
 BLUE 
 
 
 
 BLAST 
 
 52. 
 
 3- 
 
 the Syrian b. 
 
 72. 
 
 I. 
 
 blasts that blow the 
 poplar 
 
 JI5- 
 
 2. 
 
 yonder living b. 
 
 BLUFF 
 
 107. 
 
 2. 
 
 The b. of North and 
 
 East 
 
 103. 
 
 6. 
 
 shadowing b. 
 
 BOARD 
 
 
 
 BLESSEDNESS 
 
 95- 
 
 2. 
 
 on the b. the fluttering 
 
 32. 
 
 4- 
 
 is there b. like theirs ? 
 
 
 
 urn 
 
 
 
 BLESSING 
 
 107. 
 
 4- 
 
 Arrange the b. 
 
 17. 
 
 3. 
 
 My b., like a line of 
 
 
 
 BOAST 
 
 
 
 light 
 
 40. 
 
 7- 
 
 make her b. 
 
 36. 
 
 I. 
 
 We yield all b. 
 
 
 
 BOAT 
 
 40. 
 
 2. 
 
 crown 'd with b. 
 
 121. 
 
 2. 
 
 The (5. is drawn 
 
 
 
 BLINDNESS 
 
 121. 
 
 4- 
 
 The market b. 
 
 93- 
 
 4- 
 
 this b. of the frame 
 
 
 
 BODY 
 
 
 
 BLISS 
 
 12. 
 
 S- 
 
 where the b. sits 
 
 84. 
 85. 
 
 2. 
 
 23- 
 
 diffusing b. 
 in conclusive b. 
 
 35- 
 43- 
 
 2. 
 
 the b. bows 
 Bare of the b. 
 
 89. 
 
 6. 
 
 Oh b. , when all in cir- 
 
 
 
 BOLDNESS 
 
 
 
 cle 
 
 in- 
 
 4- 
 
 licensed b. gather force 
 
 91. 
 
 3- 
 
 unconjectured b. 
 
 
 
 
 K; 
 
 2. 
 
 gain of after b. 
 so much of b. 
 
 105. 
 
 3- 
 
 BOND 
 
 the b. of dying use 
 
 
 
 116. 
 
 4- 
 
 Than some strong b. 
 
 
 
 BLOOD 
 
 
 
 
 2. 
 50. 
 
 4- 
 I. 
 
 fail from out my b. 
 the b. creeps 
 
 4- 
 
 I. 
 
 BONDSMAN 
 
 My will is b. 
 
 59- 
 
 2. 
 
 wilt thou rule my b. 
 
 
 
 BONE 
 
 84. 
 
 3- 
 
 Thy b. my friend 
 
 2. 
 
 I, 
 
 wrapt about the bones 
 
 85. 
 
 5- 
 
 My b. an even tenor 
 
 18. 
 
 2. 
 
 the quiet bodies 
 
 
 
 kept 
 
 39. 
 
 1. 
 
 these buried bones 
 
 109. 
 III. 
 
 3- 
 I. 
 
 years of April b. 
 Bv b. a king 
 
 
 
 book: 
 
 122. 
 
 3- 
 3- 
 
 Till all my 3. 
 Re-made the b. 
 
 77- 
 
 2. 
 
 May bind a b. 
 
 Ep. 
 
 79- 
 
 4- 
 
 One lesson from one b. 
 
 
 89. 
 
 9- 
 
 Discussed the books 
 
 
 
 BLOOM 
 
 107 
 
 6. 
 
 With books and music 
 
 72. 
 
 2. 
 
 every living b. 
 
 
 
 BOOTH 
 
 109. 
 
 3- 
 
 in snowy b. 
 BLOOM {verb) 
 
 98. 
 
 7- 
 
 in b. and tent 
 
 BOSOM 
 
 8. 
 
 6. 
 
 it there may b. 
 
 17- 
 
 4. 
 
 the b. of the stars 
 
 82. 
 
 3. 
 
 Will b. to profit 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 BOSOM-FRIEND 
 
 
 
 BLOSSOM 
 
 59. 
 
 1. 
 
 b. and half of life 
 
 101. 
 
 I. 
 
 tender b. flutter down 
 
 
 
 BOUGH 
 
 
 
 BLOSSOM {verb) 
 
 29. 
 
 3- 
 
 while the holly boughs 
 
 115. 
 
 5- 
 
 blossoms like the rest 
 
 69. 
 
 2. 
 
 with thorny boitghs 
 
Index. 
 
 29 
 
 
 BOUGH {continued) 
 
 
 BREAST {contitmed) 
 
 72. 
 
 6. 
 
 with flying boughs 
 
 95- 
 
 3- 
 
 woolly breasts 
 
 lOI. 
 
 I. 
 
 the garden b. 
 
 "5- 
 
 5- 
 
 in my b. Spring wakens 
 
 
 
 BOUND 
 
 122. 
 
 3- 
 
 enter in at b. 
 
 87. 
 
 9- 
 
 in the bounds of law 
 
 
 
 BREATH 
 
 
 
 BOW 
 
 3- 
 
 '• 
 
 sweet and bitter in 
 a 3. 
 
 122. 
 
 S- 
 
 paints a <5. 
 
 20. 
 
 4- 
 
 to draw the b. 
 
 
 
 BOWER 
 
 68. 
 
 I. 
 
 times my b. 
 
 8. 
 
 2. 
 
 from b. and hall 
 
 86. 
 
 3- 
 
 feeds thy b. 
 
 II. 
 
 3- 
 4. 
 
 autumn bowers 
 
 95- 
 
 16. 
 
 without a b. 
 
 76. 
 102. 
 
 their branchy bozuers 
 
 98. 
 
 2. 
 
 breathed his latest b. 
 
 4- 
 
 among the bowers 
 
 99- 
 
 4- 
 
 thy balmy b. 
 
 Ep. 
 
 7. 
 
 on its bridal ^. 
 
 120. 
 
 I. 
 
 have not wasted b. 
 
 
 
 
 122. 
 
 4- 
 
 with a livelier b. 
 
 
 
 BOWL 
 
 
 
 
 105. 
 
 S- 
 
 b. of wassail 
 
 BOX 
 
 118. 
 
 2. 
 
 BREATHER 
 
 breathers of an ampler 
 day 
 
 77- 
 
 2. 
 
 may line a b. 
 
 
 
 BREEZE 
 
 
 
 BOY 
 
 17- 
 
 I. 
 
 b. Compell'd thy can- 
 
 28. 
 
 S- 
 
 controll'd me when a b. 
 
 
 
 vas 
 
 S3- 
 
 I. 
 
 among his boys 
 
 68. 
 
 2. 
 
 the bugle breezes blew 
 
 62. 
 
 2. 
 
 little more than b. 
 
 75- 
 
 3- 
 
 the b. of song 
 
 84. 
 
 3- 
 
 boys of thine 
 
 95- 
 
 14. 
 
 b. began to tremble 
 
 87. 
 
 5- 
 
 boys That crash'd the 
 
 122. 
 
 5- 
 
 the b. of Fancy 
 
 
 
 glass 
 
 Ep. 
 
 16. 
 
 Every wandering b. 
 
 122. 
 
 4- 
 
 inconsiderate b. 
 
 
 
 BRIDAL 
 
 
 
 BOYHOOD 
 
 98. 
 
 4- 
 
 The birth, the b. 
 
 102. 
 
 3- 
 
 here thy b. sung 
 
 BRAKE 
 
 99- 
 
 4- 
 
 Memories of b. 
 
 BRIDE 
 
 86. 
 
 I. 
 
 over b. and bloom 
 
 59- 
 
 2. 
 
 lovely like a b. 
 
 107. 
 
 3- 
 
 brakes and thorns 
 
 90. 
 
 4- 
 
 their brides in other 
 
 5- 
 
 2. 
 
 BRAIN 
 
 unquiet heart and b. 
 what possess'd my b. 
 
 Ep. 
 
 II. 
 
 18. 
 
 hands 
 give away the b. 
 behold the b. 
 
 14. 
 
 4- 
 
 
 
 
 80. 
 
 3- 
 
 picture in the b. 
 
 
 
 BRIDGE. 
 
 92. 
 
 I. 
 
 canker of the b. 
 
 87. 
 
 3- 
 
 paced the shores And 
 
 120. 
 
 I. 
 
 not wholly b. 
 
 
 
 many a b. 
 
 121. 
 
 2. 
 
 darkened in the b. 
 
 
 
 BRINE 
 
 
 
 BRANCH 
 
 10. 
 
 5- 
 
 fathom-deep in b. 
 
 '5- 
 
 4- 
 
 barren branches loud 
 
 107. 
 
 4- 
 
 on the rolling b. 
 
 84. 
 
 2. 
 
 branches of thy blood 
 
 
 
 BRING {verb) 
 
 
 
 BREADTH 
 
 10. 
 
 3- 
 
 So b. him 
 
 89. 
 
 I. 
 
 thy b. and height 
 
 BREAKER 
 
 32. 
 
 I. 
 
 he that brought him 
 back 
 
 71- 
 
 4- 
 
 The b. breaking 
 
 56. 
 
 3- 
 
 often brings but one 
 
 BRINK 
 
 II. 
 
 5- 
 
 BREAST 
 
 that noble b. _ 
 
 121. 
 
 4- 
 
 hail it from the b. 
 
 IS- 
 
 5- 
 
 drags a laboring b. 
 
 
 
 BROOD 
 
 85. 
 
 4- 
 
 answer from the b. 
 
 21. 
 
 7. 
 
 her b. is stol'n away 
 
 85- 
 
 29. 
 
 another living b. 
 
 89. 
 
 5- 
 
 the b. of cares 
 
130 
 
 Index. 
 
 
 
 BROOK 1 
 
 
 
 CAGE 
 
 8s. 
 
 18. 
 
 swells the narrow 
 brooks ' 
 
 27- 
 
 I. 
 
 born within the c. 
 
 CALM 
 
 95- 
 
 2. 
 
 b. alone far off ! 
 yon swoirn b. 
 The b. shall babble 
 
 II. 
 
 2. 
 
 C. and deep peace 
 
 99- 
 
 lOI. 
 
 2. 
 3- 
 
 w. 
 
 3- 
 
 4- 
 
 C. and still light 
 C. and deep peace 
 
 
 
 BROTHER 1 
 
 II. 
 
 5- 
 
 C. on the seas 
 
 9- 
 9- 
 
 4. 
 
 the b. of my love 
 
 95- 
 
 2. 
 
 c. that let the tapers 
 
 5- 
 
 More than my bro- 
 tJiers 
 
 Ep. 
 
 4- 
 
 burn 
 colossal c. 
 
 31. 
 
 2. 
 
 Where wert thou b. 1 
 
 
 
 CANKER 
 
 32. 
 
 ss. 
 
 2. 
 
 3- 
 
 living brotJiers face 
 grieve Thy brethren 
 
 92. 
 
 I. 
 
 c. of the brain 
 
 79- 
 
 I. 
 
 More than my brotJiers 
 
 
 
 CANVAS 
 
 «6. 
 
 3- 
 
 111 brethren 
 
 BROTHER-HANDS 
 
 17- 
 
 '• 
 
 Compeird thy c. 
 
 CAPABILITY 
 
 85. 
 
 26. 
 
 I clasping b. 
 
 BROW 
 
 85. 
 
 3- 
 
 My capabilities of love 
 
 CAPE 
 
 37- 
 
 I. 
 
 with darken'd b. 
 
 95- 
 
 3- 
 
 ermine capes 
 
 69. 
 
 2. 
 
 to bind my brows 
 
 
 
 
 72. 
 
 6. 
 
 thy burthen'd bro^vs 
 
 
 
 CAPTIVE 
 
 74- 
 
 2. 
 
 thy brows are cold 
 
 27- 
 
 I. 
 
 c. void of noble rage 
 
 79- 
 
 4- 
 
 on kindred brows 
 
 
 
 CARE 
 
 86. 
 91. 
 
 2. 
 2. 
 
 fan my brows 
 lucid round thy b. 
 
 8. 
 12. 
 
 4- 
 4- 
 
 foster'd up with c. 
 end of all my c. 
 
 
 
 BRUTE 
 
 38. 
 
 3- 
 
 c. for what is here 
 
 Ep. 
 
 34- 
 
 half-akin to b. 
 
 48. 
 
 2. 
 
 Her c. is not to part 
 the coming c. 
 
 j_.p. 
 
 
 99. 
 
 3- 
 
 
 
 BUD 
 
 105. 
 
 4- 
 
 cares that petty shad- 
 
 83- 
 
 4- 
 
 burst a frozen b. 
 BUD {verb) 
 
 
 
 ows cast 
 
 CARRIER-BIRD 
 
 115. 
 
 5- 
 
 buds and blossoms 
 
 BULK 
 
 25. 
 
 2. 
 
 light as carrier-birds 
 
 CASE 
 
 70. 
 
 3- 
 
 bttlks that tumble 
 
 BURDEN 
 
 35- 
 
 5- 
 
 to put An idle c. 
 
 CAST 
 
 25- 
 
 I. 
 
 daily b. for the back 
 
 BURTHEN 
 
 120. 
 
 2. 
 
 cunning casts in clay 
 
 CATARACT 
 
 13- 
 
 5- 
 
 the b. that they bring 
 
 71- 
 
 4- 
 
 c. flashing from the 
 bridge 
 
 80. 
 
 3- 
 
 the b. of the weeks 
 
 
 
 80. 
 
 3. 
 
 turns his b. into gain 
 
 
 
 CATTLE 
 
 
 
 BUSH 
 
 IS- 
 
 2. 
 
 c. huddled on the lea 
 
 91. 
 
 I. 
 
 underneath the barren b. 
 
 
 
 CAUSE 
 
 
 
 BUZZING 
 
 29. 
 
 T. 
 
 compelling c. to grieve 
 
 89. 
 
 13- 
 
 buzzi7igs of the honied 
 hours 
 
 106. 
 
 4- 
 
 slowly dying c. 
 
 CELL 
 
 
 
 
 50- 
 
 3. 
 
 weave their petty cells 
 
 
 
 C. 
 
 95- 
 
 8. 
 
 her inmost c. 
 
 
 
 CABIN-WINDOW 
 
 
 
 CELT 
 
 10. 
 
 I 
 
 the c. bright 
 
 109. 
 
 4- 
 
 blind hysterics of the C. 
 
Index. 
 
 131 
 
 64. 
 103. 
 
 6. 
 
 CENTRE 
 
 c. of a world's desire 
 In the c. stood 
 
 CHAFF 
 
 c. well meant for grain 
 
 8. 
 
 3- 
 
 23- 
 
 5- 
 
 92. 
 
 2. 
 
 114. 
 
 2. 
 
 28. 
 
 3- 
 
 41. 
 
 2. 
 
 81. 
 
 I. 
 
 82. 
 
 I. 
 
 85. 
 
 19. 
 
 89. 
 
 9- 
 
 90. 
 
 6. 
 
 91. 
 
 3- 
 
 93. 
 
 3- 
 
 95- 
 
 7- 
 
 CHAIR 
 
 20 5. To see the vacant c. 
 21. 4. The chairs and throne 
 66. 4. beats his c. 
 
 CHALICE 
 
 10. 4. c. of the grapes 
 
 CHAMBER 
 
 8 2. chambers emptied of 
 delight 
 the c. and the street 
 chambers of the blood 
 
 CHANCE 
 
 made appeal To chances 
 the future c. 
 
 CHANGE 
 
 changes on the wind 
 bound Thy changes 
 mellower c. 
 For changes wrought 
 c. of light or gloom 
 changes of the state 
 Whatever c. the years 
 hourly-mellowing c. 
 tenfold-complicated c. 
 defying c. To test his 
 
 worth 
 for c. of place 
 what changes thou hast 
 
 seen 
 
 CHANGE {verb) 
 23. 3. changed from where it 
 
 ran 
 30. 6. Nor change to us 
 
 CHARACTER {verb) 
 6i. 2. How dimly character'' d 
 
 CHARLATAN 
 
 III. 6. Defamed by every c. 
 
 123. 
 
 69. 
 90. 
 
 109. 
 114. 
 
 124. 
 124. 
 
 35- I- 
 
 57- 2- 
 
 84. 5- 
 
 107. 6. 
 
 CHEEK 
 
 The cheeks drop in 
 your cheeks are pale 
 clap their cheeks 
 
 CHEER 
 
 With festal c. 
 
 34- 
 
 88. 
 
 78. 
 
 CHEQUER-WORK 
 
 4. c. of beam and shade 
 
 CHESTNUT 
 
 1. c. pattering to the 
 
 ground 
 
 CHILD 
 
 7. Poor c. that waitest 
 
 3. takes the childrett on 
 
 his knee 
 
 4. They call'd me c. 
 
 2. find in c. and wife 
 
 5. the stranger's c. 
 
 5. the c. would twine 
 
 3. Half-grown, a c. 
 
 5. like the younger c. 
 5. like a c. in doubt 
 5. as a c. that cries 
 
 CHILDHOOD 
 
 4. childhood's flaxen ring- 
 
 let 
 
 CHIMNEY 
 
 8. her father's c. glows 
 
 CHIRP 
 
 2. hear a c. of birds 
 CHOOSE {verb) 
 
 3. worth my while to c. 
 
 CHORD 
 
 flash along the chords 
 
 CHRIST 
 
 the birth of Christ 
 raised up by Christ 
 the birth of Christ 
 Christ that is to be 
 
 CHRISTMAS 
 
 at C. did we weave 
 
 CHRISTMAS-EVE 
 
 keep our C. 
 sadly fell our C. 
 calmly fell our C. 
 strangely falls our C. 
 
 CHRYSALIS 
 
 ruin'd c. 
 
 CHURCH 
 the dark c. 
 single c. below the nill 
 
 CHURL 
 
 c. in spirit 
 c. in spirit 
 
132 
 
 Index, 
 
 
 
 CIRCLE 
 
 
 
 CLOUD 
 
 17- 
 
 2. 
 
 circles of the bounding 
 sky 
 
 4- 
 
 4- 
 
 clouds of nameless 
 trouble 
 
 30. 
 
 3- 
 
 in a ^. hand in hand 
 
 15- 
 
 4- 
 
 pore on yonder c. 
 
 45- 
 
 
 c. of the breast 
 
 30. 
 
 I. 
 
 A rainy c. 
 
 61. 
 
 i' 
 
 c. of the wise 
 
 72. 
 
 6. 
 
 clouds that drench 
 
 85. 
 
 t. 
 
 In c. round the blessed 
 
 85- 
 
 22. 
 
 clouds of nature 
 
 
 
 gate 
 all in c. drawn 
 
 103. 
 
 14- 
 
 a crimson ^. 
 
 89. 
 
 6. 
 
 106. 
 
 
 The flying c. 
 
 lOI. 
 
 6. 
 
 c. of the hills 
 CIRCLE {verb') 
 it circles round 
 
 123. 
 
 2. 
 
 Like t-/^7/r<;fj they shape 
 themselves 
 
 Ep. 
 
 21. 
 
 Ep. 
 
 27- 
 
 the streaming c. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 CLOUDLET 
 
 63. 
 
 3- 
 
 CIRCUIT 
 
 circuits of thine orbit 
 
 CIRCUMSTANCE 
 
 Ep. 
 
 24. 
 
 little cloudlets on the 
 grass 
 
 CLOUD-TOWERS 
 
 64. 
 
 2. 
 
 blows of c. 
 
 CITY 
 
 70. 
 
 2. 
 
 C. by ghostly masons 
 wrought 
 
 98. 
 
 2. 
 
 That C. 
 
 
 
 CLOWN 
 
 119. 
 
 '■ 
 
 the c. sleeps 
 
 CLAIM 
 
 III. 
 
 I. 
 
 at heart a c. 
 
 COBWEB 
 
 102. 
 
 5- 
 
 prefers his separate c. 
 
 CLAMOR 
 
 124. 
 
 2. 
 
 The petty cobwebs 
 
 124. 
 
 s- 
 
 that blind c. 
 
 CLASH 
 
 36. 
 
 X. 
 
 COIN 
 
 made them current c. 
 
 Ep. 
 
 16. 
 
 c. and clang 
 
 
 
 COLD 
 
 
 
 
 5- 
 
 3- 
 
 clothes against the c. 
 
 84. 
 
 2. 
 
 CLASP 
 
 c. and kiss 
 
 61. 
 
 2. 
 
 growth of c. and night 
 
 COLDNESS 
 
 58. 
 
 2. 
 
 CLAY 
 
 their dying c. 
 
 106. 
 
 5- 
 
 faithless c. of the times 
 
 93- 
 
 I. 
 
 claspt in c. 
 
 
 
 COLOR 
 
 85. 
 
 22. 
 
 CLEARNESS 
 
 starry c. of the free 
 
 6. 
 
 43 
 116. 
 
 9- 
 2. 
 I. 
 
 her c. burns 
 c. of the flower 
 colors of the crescent 
 
 109. 
 
 '■ 
 
 critic c. of an eye 
 
 CLIFF 
 
 
 
 prime 
 COME {verb) 
 
 12. 
 
 56. 
 
 2. 
 
 leave the cliffs 
 From scarped c. 
 CLIMB (verb) 
 
 17 
 iS 
 
 2. 
 3- 
 
 C. quick 
 
 c. whatever loves to 
 wee]") 
 
 51- 
 
 4. 
 
 when we c. or fall 
 
 57 
 
 I. 
 
 Peace, c. away 
 
 
 
 CLIME 
 
 90 
 
 4- 
 
 if they cajne who past 
 away 
 
 85. 
 
 7- 
 
 the blissful clitnes 
 
 90 
 
 6. 
 
 but c. thou back to me 
 
 118. 
 
 4- 
 
 branch'd from c. to c. 
 
 CLOCK 
 
 95 
 
 10. 
 
 ca77te on that which is 
 
 COMFORT 
 
 2. 
 
 2. 
 
 the c. Beats out 
 
 37 
 
 6. 
 
 c. clasp'd in truth 
 
 
 
 CLOTHES 
 
 109 
 
 5- 
 
 his c. in thy face 
 
 S- 
 
 3- 
 
 coarsest c. against the 
 cold 
 
 Ep 
 
 33- 
 
 COMMAND 
 
 under whose c. is earth 
 
Index. 
 
 133 
 
 
 
 COMMERCE 
 
 
 
 COUNTENANCE 
 
 85. 
 
 24 
 
 c. with the dead 
 
 COMMON-PLACE 
 
 114. 
 
 2 
 
 her forward c. 
 
 COURSE 
 
 6. 
 
 I. 
 
 common is the c. 
 
 109. 
 
 2 
 
 in its fiery c. 
 
 
 
 COMMUNION 
 
 113- 
 
 4 
 
 roll it in another c. 
 
 94. 
 
 I. 
 
 c. with the dead 
 
 ;;?: 
 
 3 
 S 
 
 courses of the suns 
 move his c. 
 
 
 
 COMPANIONSHIP 
 
 128. 
 
 
 the c. of human things 
 
 22, 
 
 4- 
 
 broke our fair c. 
 
 
 
 COURT 
 
 
 
 COMPLAINT 
 
 89. 
 
 3 
 
 from brawling cottrts 
 
 81. 
 
 2. 
 
 end is here to my c. 
 
 COMRADE 
 
 126. 
 
 2 
 
 within his c. on earth 
 
 COURIER 
 
 '3- 
 
 3- 
 
 c. of my choice 
 
 126. 
 
 I- 
 
 his couriers bring 
 
 128. 
 
 
 c. of the lesser faith 
 
 
 
 COURTSHIP 
 
 
 
 CONCLUSION 
 
 Ep. 
 
 25. 
 
 how their c. grew 
 
 87. 
 
 9- 
 
 To those coiiclusio'ns 
 
 
 
 COVE 
 
 
 
 CONFESS {verb) 
 
 79- 
 
 3. 
 
 all his eddying coves 
 
 59- 
 
 I. 
 
 As I c. it needs must be 
 
 
 
 COWARD 
 
 
 
 
 95- 
 
 8. 
 
 doubts that drive the c. 
 
 
 
 CONFUSION 
 
 
 
 back 
 
 Pro. 
 
 II 
 
 Confnsio7ts of a wasted 
 youth 
 
 
 
 CRAG 
 
 90. 
 
 5- 
 
 C. worse than death 
 
 CONSCIENCE 
 
 127. 
 
 3- 
 
 the sustaining crags 
 
 CREATION 
 
 27. 
 
 2. 
 
 a c. never wakes 
 
 56. 
 
 4- 
 
 Creation's final law 
 
 34- 
 
 2. 
 
 Without a c. or an aim 
 
 Ep. 
 
 36. 
 
 the whole c. moves 
 
 94. 
 
 3. 
 
 The c. as a sea at rest 
 
 
 
 CREATURE 
 
 
 
 CONTEMPLATE 
 
 Pro. 
 
 10 
 
 Thy c. whom I found 
 
 84. 
 
 I. 
 
 When I c. all alone 
 
 CONTENT 
 
 59- 
 
 3- 
 
 the c. of my love 
 
 CREDIT 
 
 84. 
 
 12. 
 
 low beginnings of c. 
 
 CONTINENT 
 
 71- 
 80. 
 
 2. 
 4- 
 
 such c. with the soul 
 His^. thus shall set me 
 free 
 
 35- 
 
 3- 
 
 dust of co7ttinentsio be 
 
 
 
 CREED 
 
 
 
 CONTRADICTION 
 
 36. 
 
 3- 
 
 the c. of creeds 
 
 125. 
 
 I. 
 
 c. on the tongue 
 
 56. 
 
 4- 
 
 shriek'd against his c. 
 
 
 
 CONTROL 
 
 96. 
 
 3- 
 
 in half the creeds 
 
 85. 
 
 9- 
 
 equal-poised c. 
 
 CONVERSE 
 
 128. 
 
 4- 
 
 To cleave a c. 
 
 CREEK 
 
 20. 
 
 5- 
 
 open c. is there none 
 
 lOI. 
 
 4- 
 
 in c. and cove 
 
 no. 
 
 
 Thy c. drew us 
 
 
 
 CRESCENT 
 
 
 
 COKE 
 
 84. 
 107. 
 
 3. 
 
 thyc. would have grown 
 yon hard c. 
 
 107. 
 
 5- 
 
 solid c. of heat 
 
 
 
 CRICKET 
 
 
 
 COUNSELLOR 
 
 95. 
 
 2. 
 
 not a c. chirr'd 
 
 64. 
 
 6. 
 
 play'd at counsellors 
 
 
 
 CRIME 
 
 sense of c. 
 
 
 
 COUNT (verb) 
 
 27. 
 
 2. 
 
 ^''■ 
 
 3- 
 
 c. itself as blest 
 
 72. 
 
 5- 
 
 some hideous c. 
 
 Ep. 
 
 22. 
 
 Nor c. me all to blame 
 
 85. 
 
 16. 
 
 I count it c. 
 
134 
 
 Index. 
 
 
 
 CROWD 
 
 
 
 DARK 
 
 70. 
 
 3. 
 
 crmvds that stream 
 
 67. 
 
 2. 
 
 bright in d. 
 ambrosial d. 
 
 98. 
 
 7. 
 
 lives in any c. 
 
 89. 
 
 4- 
 
 128. 
 
 4- 
 
 To fool the c. 
 
 CROWN 
 
 Ep. 
 
 24. 
 
 the^. From little cloud- 
 lets 
 
 69. 
 
 2. 
 
 like a civic c. 
 
 
 
 DARKNESS 
 
 69. 
 
 3- 
 
 a c. of thorns 
 
 I. 
 
 3- 
 
 Let d. keep her raven 
 
 69. 
 
 4- 
 
 He look-d upon my c. 
 
 
 
 gloss 
 
 127. 
 
 3. 
 
 him that wears a c. 
 
 55- 
 
 4- 
 
 That slope thro' d. 
 
 
 
 
 61. 
 
 2. 
 
 blanch'd with d. 
 
 
 
 CRY 
 
 74. 
 
 3. 
 
 d. beautiful with thee 
 
 Pro. 
 
 II. 
 
 wandering cries 
 
 76. 
 
 3- 
 
 The d. of our planet 
 
 75- 
 
 3- 
 
 To raise a c. 
 
 96. 
 
 5. 
 
 Which makes the d. 
 
 102. 
 
 I. 
 
 our earliest c. 
 
 96. 
 98. 
 106. 
 
 6. 
 
 in the d. and the cloud 
 
 113- 
 
 5- 
 
 cries And undulations 
 
 4. 
 
 A treble d. 
 
 131- 
 
 2. 
 
 A c. above the con- 
 
 8. 
 
 Ring out the d. 
 
 
 
 quered years 
 
 124. 
 
 6. 
 
 out of d. came 
 
 
 
 CRYPT 
 
 
 
 DART {verb) 
 
 58. 
 
 2. 
 
 those cold crypts 
 
 CUP 
 
 12. 
 
 5- 
 
 forward d. again 
 
 DAUGHTER 
 
 Ep. 
 
 26. 
 
 The crowning c. 
 
 CURL 
 
 Ep. 
 
 2. 
 
 A d. of our house 
 
 DAWN 
 
 66. 
 
 3- 
 
 winds their curls 
 
 46. 
 
 2. 
 
 In that deep d. 
 
 
 
 CURSE 
 
 72- 
 
 I. 
 
 dim d. 
 
 6. 
 
 10. 
 
 the c. Had fallen 
 
 CURVE 
 
 95- 
 99. 
 
 16. 
 I. 
 
 said " The d. the rtT." 
 dim d. 
 
 100. 
 
 4- 
 
 thro' meadowy curves 
 
 Pro. 
 
 5- 
 
 DAY 
 
 They have their d. 
 
 
 
 CYCLE 
 
 7. 
 
 3- 
 
 breaks the blank d. 
 
 105. 
 
 7- 
 
 The closing c. 
 
 15- 
 
 
 yonder dropping d. 
 
 
 
 CYPRESS 
 
 17- 
 
 2. 
 
 the days go by 
 
 84. 
 
 4 
 
 Made c. of her orange- 
 flower 
 
 19. 
 24. 
 
 2. 
 I. 
 
 twice a d. 
 
 the d. of my delight 
 
 
 
 24. 
 
 I. 
 
 source and fount of D. 
 
 
 
 D. 
 
 25- 
 
 I. 
 
 the d. prepared 
 
 
 
 29. 
 
 4- 
 
 a d. gone by 
 
 
 
 DAISY 
 
 7fl- 
 
 8. 
 
 the cheerful d. 
 
 72- 
 
 3 
 
 the d. close Her crim- 
 
 31- 
 
 2. 
 
 those four rt'rt-j'j 
 
 
 son fringes 
 
 33- 
 
 2. 
 
 melodious days 
 
 
 
 44- 
 
 I. 
 
 forgets the days 
 
 
 
 DANCE 
 
 44. 
 
 2. 
 
 The days have vanish'd 
 
 29. 
 
 2 
 
 In d. and song 
 
 46. 
 
 3- 
 
 Days order'd 
 
 78. 
 
 3 
 
 And d. and song 
 
 58. 
 
 2. 
 
 beat from d. to d. 
 
 98. 
 
 8 
 
 the circled d. 
 
 60. 
 
 3- 
 
 her narrow ^aj/.y 
 
 T05. 
 
 6 
 
 No d. , no motion 
 
 60. 
 
 4- 
 
 till the d. draws by 
 
 Ep. 
 
 27 
 
 And last the d. 
 
 66. 
 
 4- 
 
 inner d. can never die 
 
 
 
 DANUBE 
 
 71- 
 
 3- 
 
 The days that grow 
 
 19. 
 98. 
 
 I 
 3 
 
 The D. to the Severn 
 Let her great D. 
 
 72. 
 
 1^' 
 
 5- 
 7- 
 
 D. mark'd as with some 
 
 hideous crime 
 disastrous d. 
 
 
 
 DARE (verd) 
 
 75- 
 
 3- 
 
 these fading days 
 
 4- 
 
 2 
 
 darest to enquire 
 
 83. 
 
 2. 
 
 live with April days 
 
 85- 
 
 10 
 
 we d. to live or die 
 
 84. 
 
 3- 
 
 the d. was drawing on 
 
 124. 
 
 I 
 
 which we d. invoke 
 
 84. 
 
 7- 
 
 the happy days 
 
Index. 
 
 135 
 
 DAY {continued) 
 
 DEATH {contimied) 
 
 85- 
 
 II. 
 
 my days decline 
 
 114. 
 
 3- 
 
 the fear of d. 
 
 89. 
 
 8. 
 
 livelong summer d. 
 
 120. 
 
 
 I fought with D. 
 
 90. 
 
 4- 
 
 yield them for a d. 
 in the days behind 
 their golden d. 
 into boundless d. 
 
 128. 
 
 I. 
 
 when he met with D. 
 
 92. 
 94. 
 
 95- 
 
 2. 
 2. 
 
 16. 
 
 87. 
 
 6. 
 
 DEBATE 
 
 Where once we held d. 
 
 97- 
 
 4- 
 
 The days she never can 
 
 
 
 DECEMBER 
 
 99. 
 
 J 
 
 forget 
 D. when I lost 
 
 97- 
 
 3- 
 
 meetings made D. June 
 
 100. 
 
 5- 
 
 reflects a kindlier d. 
 
 
 
 DECK 
 
 102. 
 
 5- 
 
 striven half the d. 
 
 9- 
 
 3- 
 
 the dewy decks 
 
 104. 
 
 3- 
 
 breathes of other days 
 
 103. 
 
 II. 
 
 there on d. 
 
 107. 
 107. 
 107. 
 
 I. 
 I. 
 
 6. 
 
 d. when he was born 
 d. that early sank 
 We keep the d. 
 
 62. 
 
 2. 
 
 DECLINE {verb) 
 that once declined 
 
 116 
 
 4- 
 
 days of happy commune 
 
 
 
 DEED 
 
 117. 
 
 I. 
 
 days and hours 
 
 36. 
 
 3. 
 
 perfect deeds 
 
 119 
 
 2. 
 
 tliink of early days 
 
 55- 
 
 3- 
 
 meaning in her deeds 
 
 Ep. 
 
 I. 
 
 thy marriage d. 
 
 73. 
 
 3. 
 
 human deeds 
 
 Ep. 
 
 2. 
 
 Since that dark d. 
 
 85. 
 
 2. 
 
 tried in d. 
 
 
 
 DEAD {adj.) 
 
 96. 
 
 3- 
 
 pure in deeds 
 
 2 
 
 I. 
 
 the underlying d. 
 
 131- 
 
 
 Flow thro' our deeds 
 
 44 
 
 I. 
 
 the happy V. 
 
 
 
 DEEP 
 
 5' 
 
 1. 
 
 desire the d. 
 
 II. 
 
 5. 
 
 the heaving d. 
 a deeper d. 
 
 5' 
 
 3- 
 
 The d. shall look 
 
 63- 
 
 4- 
 
 85 
 
 24. 
 
 the d. would say 
 
 103. 
 
 10. 
 
 to draw From ^. to d. 
 
 90 
 
 2. 
 
 d. whose dving eyes 
 
 103. 
 
 14. 
 
 slept along the d. 
 
 99 
 
 2. 
 
 holy to theV. 
 
 123- 
 
 
 There rolls the rf. 
 
 118 
 
 2. 
 
 those we call the d. 
 
 124. 
 
 3- 
 
 the Godless d. 
 
 
 
 DEAREST 
 
 125. 
 
 4. 
 
 the mystic deeps 
 
 no 
 
 4- 
 
 I, thy d., sat apart 
 
 
 
 DEFECT 
 
 
 
 DEARNESS 
 
 54. 
 
 I. 
 
 Defects of doubt 
 
 64 
 
 ■ 5- 
 
 distant d. in the hill 
 
 
 
 DELIGHT 
 
 
 
 DEATH 
 
 29. 
 
 2. 
 
 shower'd largess of ^. 
 
 Pre 
 
 ). 2. 
 
 Thou madest D. 
 
 42. 
 
 3- 
 
 what delights can equal 
 
 
 • 3- 
 
 To dance with d. 
 
 117. 
 
 2. 
 
 Z). a hundredfold 
 
 20 
 
 • 4- 
 
 that atmosphere of D. 
 
 
 
 DEMAND {verb) 
 
 35 
 
 • 5- 
 
 If D. were seen 
 
 31- 
 
 i_ 
 
 Was this dernatided 
 
 44 
 
 ■ 3- 
 
 If D. so taste 
 
 
 
 
 45 
 
 • 4- 
 
 second birth of D. 
 
 
 
 DEMON 
 
 51 
 
 • 3- 
 
 wisdom with great D. 
 
 114. 
 
 4- 
 
 the brain Of Demons 
 
 t 
 
 7A 
 
 2. 
 
 I. 
 
 • 3- 
 
 I bring to d. 
 Death's twin brother 
 D. has made His dark- 
 ness 
 
 85. 
 
 28. 
 
 DEPLORE {verb) 
 
 that cannot but d. 
 DESCEND {verb) 
 
 8c 
 
 I. 
 
 holy D. ere Arthur died 
 
 93. 
 
 4- 
 
 D. and touch 
 
 8 
 82 
 82 
 
 • 3- 
 
 • 3- 
 
 D. returns an answer 
 feud with D. 
 Nor blame I D. 
 
 66. 
 
 2 
 
 DESERT 
 
 makes a d. in the mind 
 
 82 
 
 • 4- 
 
 on D. I wreak 
 
 
 
 DESIRE 
 
 9 
 
 ,. II 
 
 The blows of D. 
 
 4- 
 
 2 
 
 fail from thy d. 
 
 10 
 
 5- 9 
 
 the d. of war 
 
 64 
 
 4 
 
 a world's d. 
 
 TO 
 
 i. 2 
 
 the wells of D. 
 
 80 
 
 I 
 
 any vague d. 
 
 10 
 
 ?. 3 
 
 the depths of d. 
 
 84 
 
 5 
 
 their least d. 
 
136 
 
 Index, 
 
 DESIRE {continued) 
 
 DOOR {continued) 
 
 no. 
 
 5- 
 
 the vague d. 
 
 36 
 
 2. 
 
 lowly rf(7^r5 
 
 114. 
 
 
 all things to ^. 
 
 69 
 
 I. 
 
 trifles at the d. 
 
 117. 
 
 2. 
 
 D. fif nearness 
 
 70 
 
 3- 
 
 yawning doors 
 
 129. 
 
 I. 
 
 my lost d. 
 
 87 
 
 5- 
 
 name was on the d. 
 
 
 
 DESPAIR 
 
 a calm (f. 
 Can calm d. 
 D. of Hope 
 
 103 
 119 
 
 I. 
 I. 
 
 From out the doors 
 Doors where my he^rt 
 
 II. 
 
 4- 
 
 121 
 
 2. 
 
 listenest to the closingaf. 
 
 16. 
 
 84. 
 
 I. 
 
 4- 
 
 Ep 
 
 30. 
 
 bridal doors 
 
 DOORWAY 
 
 
 
 DEW 
 
 44 
 
 1. 
 
 doorways of his head 
 
 II. 
 
 2. 
 
 dews that drench 
 
 
 
 
 68. 
 
 2. 
 
 fresh with d. 
 
 
 
 DOUBT 
 
 S3. 
 
 3- 
 
 dash'd with fiery d. 
 
 41 
 
 5- 
 
 spectral doubt 
 
 89. 
 
 5- 
 
 in morning; d. 
 
 44 
 
 • 4- 
 
 resolve the d. 
 
 Ep. 
 
 25. 
 
 at fall of d. 
 
 48 
 
 I. 
 
 doubts and answers 
 
 
 
 
 48 
 
 2. 
 
 slender shade of d. 
 
 
 
 DEW-DROP 
 
 54- I- 
 
 defects of d. 
 
 122. 
 
 5- 
 
 every d. paints a bow 
 
 68 
 
 • 3- 
 
 my dream resolve the^. 
 
 8. 
 
 6. 
 
 DIE (verb) 
 Or dyifig, there at least 
 
 may fl^. 
 to ^. with him 
 
 86 
 94 
 
 95 
 
 • 3- 
 
 • 4- 
 . 8. 
 
 till D. and Death 
 d. beside the portal 
 doubts that drive 
 
 121. 
 
 I, 
 
 95 
 96 
 
 . II. 
 
 stricken through with d. 
 d. is Devil-born 
 
 
 
 DIFFERENCE 
 
 96 
 
 • 3- 
 
 more faith in honest d. 
 
 40. 
 
 6. 
 
 the d. I discern 
 
 96 
 
 • 4- 
 
 He fought his doubts 
 
 
 
 
 log 
 
 . 2. 
 
 doubts of man 
 
 
 
 DIN 
 
 124 
 
 . I. 
 
 our ghastliest d. 
 
 89. 
 
 2. 
 
 d. and steam of town 
 
 
 
 DOUBT {verb) 
 
 94. 
 
 4- 
 
 the heart is full of d. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 113 
 
 . 2. 
 
 can I d. 
 
 
 
 DISEASE 
 
 1 13 
 
 . 2. 
 
 I d. not 
 
 106. 
 
 7- 
 
 shapes of foul d. 
 
 
 
 DOVE 
 
 
 
 DISK 
 
 6 
 
 • 7- 
 
 meek unconscious d. 
 
 lOI. 
 
 2. 
 
 her d. of seed 
 
 12 
 
 I. 
 
 Lo, as a d. 
 
 
 
 
 103 
 
 4. 
 
 then flew in a d. 
 
 
 
 DISPUTE 
 
 
 
 
 84. 
 
 6. 
 
 Of deep d. 
 
 
 DOWN {of feathers) 
 
 
 
 DISTANCE 
 
 bl 
 
 I 
 
 in the d. I sink my head 
 
 38. 
 
 I. 
 
 purple from the d. dies 
 
 
 
 DOWN {of country) 
 
 93- 
 
 3- 
 
 d. of the abyss 
 
 Ei: 
 
 • 27. 
 
 on the downs 
 
 11=;. 
 
 2. 
 
 d. takes a lovelier hue 
 
 Ep 
 
 . 28. 
 
 from yonder d. 
 
 117. 
 
 2. 
 
 out of d. 
 
 
 
 DRAGON 
 
 
 
 DISTRESS 
 
 56. 6 
 
 . Dragons of the prime 
 
 78. 
 
 4- 
 
 token of d. 
 
 
 
 DRAUGHT 
 
 
 
 DOCTRINE 
 
 6. 3 
 
 ere half thy d. 
 
 53- 
 
 3- 
 
 held the d. sound 
 
 
 
 DRAW (ly^'ri^) 
 
 
 
 DOOM 
 
 g. 2 
 
 So d. him home 
 
 72. 
 118. 
 
 2. 
 6. 
 
 that reverse of d. 
 shocks of d. 
 
 
 
 DREAM 
 
 122. 
 
 
 against my d. 
 
 ID. 3 
 
 13. 4 
 
 we have idle dreams 
 suffer in a (f. 
 
 
 
 DOOR 
 
 4 
 
 7. 3 
 
 What vaster rt'. 
 
 7- 
 
 I. 
 
 Doors where my heart 
 
 54- 5 
 
 So "uns my d. 
 
 28. 
 
 2. 
 
 as if a d. Were shut 
 
 5 
 
 5- 2 
 
 such evil dreams 
 
Index. 
 
 137 
 
 56. 
 64. 
 
 68. 
 
 89. 
 123. 
 129. 
 
 68. 
 
 107. 
 107. 
 
 83. 
 
 29. 
 37- 
 45- 
 
 67. 
 95- 
 95- 
 
 Pro. 
 17- 
 21. 
 34- 
 35- 
 35- 
 55. 
 56. 
 71- 
 75- 
 80. 
 
 DREAM (contintied) 
 
 6. a ^., A discord 
 
 5. as in a pensive d. 
 
 3. my d. resolve the doubt 
 
 9. some Socratic d. 
 
 3. dream my d. 
 
 3. a d. of good 
 
 DREAM {verb) 
 I. d. of thee as dead 
 
 3. rather d. that there 
 
 DRIFT 
 
 4. in the drifts that pass 
 DRINK {verb) 
 
 6. we Will d. to him 
 
 DROP 
 
 4. balmy drops 
 
 1. fl?. by ^. the water falls 
 
 DROPPING-WELLS 
 
 3. Laburnums, d. of fire 
 
 DUE 
 
 4. their yearly d. 
 
 4. human love his dues 
 
 4. fruitless of their d. 
 
 DUSK 
 
 2. in the d. of thee 
 
 3. d. is dipt in gray 
 3. That haunt the d. 
 
 13. the doubtful d. 
 
 DUST 
 
 3. wilt not leave us in the <f. 
 
 5. The d. of him 
 
 6. the sacred d. 
 I. d. and ashes 
 
 I. nor is there hope in d. 
 
 3. d. of continents 
 
 5. gather d. and chaff 
 
 5. the desert d. 
 
 3. the d. of change 
 
 3. a little af. of praise 
 
 1. dropt the d. 
 
 2. The d. and din 
 
 E. 
 
 EAGr.E 
 
 2. eagle'' s wing 
 
 EAR 
 
 turn mine ^^rj 
 ungrateful to thine e. 
 Yet in these ears 
 mature in e. 
 Till on mine e. 
 
 87. 
 Ep. 
 
 18. 
 24. 
 
 34- 
 
 78. 
 82. 
 84. 
 8S- 
 99. 
 
 113- 
 iiS. 
 123. 
 127. 
 Ep. 
 
 EAR {continued) 
 . A willing e. 
 
 Breathed in her e. 
 
 EARNEST 
 
 e. that he loves her 
 
 EARTH 
 
 in English e. is laid 
 e. had been the Para- 
 dise 
 Else e. is darkness 
 snow possess'd the e. 
 earth's embrace 
 and e. of thee 
 a darken'd e. 
 on the genial e. 
 lever to uplift the e. 
 e. whereon we tread 
 O e. what changes 
 The brute e. lightens 
 under whose command 
 Is E. and Earth's 
 
 EAST 
 
 30. 8. touch the e. 
 
 72. 4. Up the deep E. 
 
 95. 16. And E. and West 
 
 105. 6. in the lucid e. 
 
 3- 3- 
 
 58. I. 
 
 Ep. 6. 
 
 EAVES 
 
 foliaged e. 
 
 the sharpen "d e. 
 
 ECHO 
 
 hollow e. of my own 
 echoes in sepulchral 
 
 halls 
 echoes out of weaker 
 
 times 
 
 EDDY 
 
 28. 2. vast eddies in the flood 
 EDDY {verb) 
 3. that £". round and round 
 
 EDEN 
 
 I. Rings E. thro' the 
 
 budded quicks 
 7. the moon Of E. 
 
 EFFECT 
 
 3. thine e. so lives in me 
 
 53 
 
 88 
 Ep 
 
 EGG 
 
 50. 3. That lay their eggs 
 
 ELEMENT 
 
 112. 4. elements in order 
 
■38 
 
 Index. 
 
 95- IS- 
 
 40. 3. 
 
 82. I. 
 
 85. 28. 
 
 117. I. 
 
 6. II. 
 
 12. 4. 
 
 65. 3. 
 
 85. 25. 
 
 100. I. 
 
 118. 2. 
 
 109. 4. 
 
 60. 2. 
 
 85. 9- 
 
 64. I. 
 
 72. 2. 
 
 92. 4- 
 Ep. 36. 
 
 98. 4. 
 
 80. 4. 
 
 5- 2. 
 
 iir. 5. 
 
 88. 2. 
 
 ELM 
 
 the full foliaged elms 
 
 EMBRACE 
 
 parting with a long e. 
 earth's e. 
 
 yet remembers his e. 
 little while from his e. 
 
 END 
 
 shall be the e ? 
 
 Is this the e. 
 
 on to noble ends 
 
 some settled e. 
 
 from ^. to e. 
 
 For ever nobler ^«a?j 
 
 ENGLAND 
 
 her regal seat Of E. 
 ENVY {verb) 
 envying all that meet 
 
 ESSENCE 
 
 O sacred e. 
 
 ESTATE 
 
 life in low e. began 
 my crown'd e. 
 
 EVANGELIST 
 
 lips of that E. 
 
 EVENT 
 
 refraction of events 
 one far-off divine e. 
 
 EVIL 
 
 E. haunts The birth 
 
 EXAMPLE 
 
 Unused e. 
 
 EXERCISE 
 
 sad mechanic e. 
 
 EXPRESSION 
 
 the e. of an eye 
 
 EXTREME 
 
 fierce extremes ^vci^Xoy 
 
 the darken 'd eyes 
 a vanish'd e. 
 Mine eyes have leisure 
 look'd to human eyes 
 e. which watches guilt 
 that e. foresee 
 every e. was dim 
 Her eyes are homes 
 those wild eyes 
 
 40. 
 
 2. 
 
 SI- 
 
 2. 
 
 SI- 
 
 4- 
 
 56. 
 
 3- 
 
 57- 
 
 3. 
 
 61. 
 
 2. 
 
 62. 
 
 I. 
 
 62. 
 
 3- 
 
 67. 
 
 3- 
 
 68. 
 
 3- 
 
 77. I. 
 80. 1. 
 87. 10. 
 
 90. 
 
 95- 
 96. 
 97- 
 97- 
 
 lOO. 
 
 109. 
 109. 
 
 EVE (continued) 
 her tender eyes 
 See with clear e. 
 With larger other eyes 
 purpose in his eyes 
 look'd with human eyes 
 cast thine eyes below 
 e. that "s downw ard cast 
 light of deeper eyes 
 eaves of wearied eyes 
 trouble in thine e. 
 turns a musing e. 
 dust on tearless eyes 
 those ethereal eyes 
 
 He brought an e. 
 whose dying eyes 
 
 beaded eyes 
 
 whose light-blue eyes 
 
 dwelt with e. on e. 
 
 with faithful eyes 
 
 pleased a kindred e. 
 
 clearness of an e. 
 
 mine eyes Have look'd 
 
 expression of an e. 
 
 with temperate eyes 
 
 cast a careless e. 
 
 friendship of thine e. 
 . look thro' dimmer eyes 
 
 bends her blissful eyes 
 
 By village eyes 
 , that e. to e. shall look 
 
 Pro. I. 
 
 70. I. 
 
 70- 3- 
 
 70. 4. 
 
 76. I. 
 
 84. 5. 
 
 87. 9- 
 
 108. 3. 
 
 116. 3- 
 Ep. 
 
 Ep. 21. 
 
 so- 
 
 Pro. I. 
 
 Pro. 6. 
 
 3i- I- 
 
 33- 3- 
 
 F. 
 
 FACE 
 
 have not seen thyy. 
 
 strive to paint The_/I 
 
 shoals of ^MzV^r' A faces 
 
 Looks thy fair/i 
 
 set thy f. 
 
 their \xn\iorT\ faces 
 
 light his/ 
 
 reflex of a human f. 
 
 the f. will shine 
 
 Many a merry/ 
 
 di^xA faces bloom 
 
 FACT 
 
 bared to view Kf. 
 FADE {verb) 
 fades not yet 
 when \f. away 
 
 FAITH 
 
 By/, and/ alone 
 We have but/ 
 Whose/ has centre 
 Her/ thro' form 
 
Index. 
 
 139 
 
 37. 
 
 I. 
 
 47- 
 
 2. 
 
 50. 
 
 3- 
 
 SI- 
 
 3- 
 
 55- 
 
 5- 
 
 82. 
 
 
 95- 
 
 i. 
 
 96. 
 
 3- 
 
 96. 
 
 3- 
 
 96. 
 
 
 97- 
 
 8. 
 
 97- 
 
 9- 
 
 108. 
 
 2. 
 
 124. 
 
 I. 
 
 124. 
 
 3. 
 
 127. 
 
 I. 
 
 131. 
 
 3- 
 
 fAiTH [contimied) 
 Thisy! has many a 
 /. as vague 
 when my/, is dry 
 want oiy. 
 lame hands of /. 
 can fright my_/ 
 strangely spoke The_/! 
 Perplext m/. 
 more_/i in honest doubt 
 a strongery. his own 
 sings Of early_/ 
 Her_/! is fixt 
 lies in barren/! 
 Our dearest/! j 
 
 when/. had fall 'n asleep 
 tho'/ and form 
 /. that comes of self- 
 control 
 
 FALL 
 
 that redden to the/. | 
 
 FALSE {adj.) I 
 
 Ring out the/! . 
 
 FALTER {verb) I 
 
 /. where I firmly trod \ 
 
 FAME 
 
 The/! is quench'd 
 
 What/ is left 
 
 wraith of dying/! I 
 
 silence guard thy/! 
 
 is more than/! 1 
 
 FANCY j 
 
 3. Our home-hrtd fancies 
 5. My /ii«£r/^.y time torise 
 
 3. And but iox fancies \ 
 5. /. fuses old and new , 
 
 4. F. light from F. caught 
 2. faiicy's tenderest eddy 
 2. dare we to this/, give 
 I. a/ trouble-tost 
 
 I. when ray fancies play 
 
 1. Take wings of/ 
 
 2. Then/, shapes as/ can 
 [2. Ah, backward/ 
 
 3. let the/ fly 
 
 5. villain/, fleeting by 
 5. the breeze of F. 
 
 FANE 
 
 3 . f cities of fruitless prayer 
 
 2. in college/iz«(?j 
 
 FAREWELL 
 
 I. I took/. 
 
 3. the thing/! 
 
 II. 
 
 3- 
 
 crowded/ar»M 
 
 FAR (a^'.) 
 
 130. 
 
 4- 
 
 /! o£E thou art 
 
 FASHION 
 
 III. 
 
 2. 
 
 iox fashion! s sake 
 
 FATE 
 
 64. 
 
 6. 
 
 limit of his narrow/! 
 
 FATHER 
 
 6. 
 
 3- 
 
 /! wheresoe'er thou be 
 
 6. 
 
 8. 
 
 her father'' s chimney 
 
 30. 
 
 8. 
 
 0, Z''., touch the east 
 
 40. 
 
 3- 
 
 joys the / move 
 
 53- 
 
 I. 
 
 How many a/ 
 
 89. 
 
 12. 
 
 into her father'' s grave 
 
 98. 
 
 4- 
 
 fathers bend 
 
 105. 
 
 2. 
 
 0\xr father'' s dust 
 
 124. 
 
 5- 
 
 knows his/, near 
 FATHOM {verb) 
 
 85. 
 
 23- 
 
 'T is hard for thee to/! 
 
 FAUN 
 
 iiS. 
 
 7- 
 
 fly The reeling F. 
 
 FEAR 
 
 IS- 
 
 4- 
 
 but for/, it is not so 
 
 32. 
 
 3- 
 
 all curious /^ari- 
 
 41- 
 
 4- 
 
 that vague/! 
 
 SI- 
 
 3- 
 
 vi'iih. fears untrue 
 
 8s- 
 
 17. 
 
 separate irom fears 
 
 no. 
 
 I. 
 
 haunt oi fears 
 
 118. 
 
 6. 
 
 hot with h\xYmn% fears 
 
 127. 
 
 '• 
 
 in the night of /. 
 FEAR (verb) 
 
 Ep. 
 
 II. 
 
 She. fears not 
 
 Ep. 
 
 II. 
 
 will not/! 
 
 FEAST 
 
 47- 
 
 3- 
 
 sit at endless/! 
 
 118. 
 
 7- 
 
 the sensual/. 
 
 Ep. 
 
 19. 
 
 the morning/! 
 
 Ep. 
 
 26. 
 
 Again the/. 
 
 FEATURE 
 
 70. 
 
 I. 
 
 see ih.& features right 
 FEEL {verb) 
 
 14. 
 
 5- 
 
 f. it to be strange 
 
 27. 
 
 4- 
 
 /! it when I sorrow 
 
 8s. 
 
 
 felt it when I sorrow'd 
 
 85. 
 
 II. 
 
 I felt and/. 
 
 97- 
 
 9- 
 
 feels him great and wise 
 
 FEELING 
 
 20. 
 
 2. 
 
 speak their/! 
 a gentler/! crept 
 
 SO- 
 
 5 
 
140 
 
 Index. 
 
 82. 
 106. 
 
 86. 
 
 37- 
 40. 
 46. 
 95- 
 95- 
 102. 
 
 Pro. 
 
 6. 
 
 14. 
 
 45- 
 
 15- 
 
 54- 
 84. 
 
 127. 
 
 Ep. 
 
 FELLOW 
 
 2. This_/! would make 
 
 FELLOWSHIP 
 
 6. f. of sluggish moods 
 
 FEUD 
 
 I. anyy. with Death 
 
 3. Ring out the/; 
 
 FEVER 
 
 3. The/, from my cheek 
 
 FIBRE 
 
 1. Thy^^r^j net 
 FICKLE {adj.) 
 
 7. Rapt from the/ 
 
 FIELD 
 
 3. The/, the chamber 
 
 2. the/ of time 
 6. the master's/ 
 
 8. the yields I know 
 
 4. A bounded/ 
 
 4. dark arms about the / 
 13. dark arms about the/ 
 
 6. the pleasant /i'/^J 
 
 FIND {verb) 
 ID. 1/ him worthier 
 
 7. to/ thyself so fair 
 
 5. found him all in all 
 
 2. Ji7ids I am not what I 
 
 FINGER 
 
 With trembling/w^^rj 
 God's/ touch'd him 
 A fiery/ on the leaves 
 
 FIRE 
 
 fringed with/ 
 in a fruitless/ 
 the never-lighted/ 
 compass'd by \.\\e fires 
 a rising/ 
 
 FIRESIDE 
 
 her old/ 
 
 FIRSTLING 
 
 / to the flock 
 
 FLAKE 
 
 molten \xi\.Q) flakes 
 
 FLAME 
 
 keen seraphic/ 
 steals a silver/ 
 heaved a windless/ 
 Ray round with /^wf J 
 
 87. 5. 
 
 FLASH 
 
 44. 2. A Httle/ 
 122. 4. former/ of joy 
 
 FLAT 
 
 87. 4. The same gray flats 
 
 FLECK 
 
 52. 4. flecks of sin 
 
 FLESH 
 
 33. 3. sacred be the/ 
 
 FLOCK 
 
 115. 3. The /^c-^j are whiter 
 
 FLOOD 
 
 9. 2. prosperous /i?(?^ 
 
 85. 18. the steaming ^^^</f 
 
 86. 2. the horned/ 
 103. 7. roU'd the floods 
 
 127. 4. roar in/ 
 
 128. 2. eddies in the/ 
 
 FLOOR 
 
 and beat the/ 
 countercharge the/ 
 
 FLOWER 
 
 a/ beat with rain 
 poor/ of poesy 
 
 From/ to/ 
 
 / is feeling after/ 
 all the color of the/ 
 
 / of human time 
 ankle deep in flowers 
 the/ of men 
 admits not flowers 
 the bridal/ 
 lightly like a/ 
 
 / and fruit 
 
 FLUCTUATION 
 
 112. 4. word-wide/ 
 
 FLUTE 
 
 23. 6. a/ of Arcady 
 105. 6. nor/ be blown 
 
 FLY 
 
 50. 3. flz'es of latter spring 
 96. I. drowning ^;Vj 
 
 FLY {verb) 
 41. I. flies the lighter thro' the 
 gross 
 
 FOLD 
 
 22. 4. formless in the/ 
 100. 2. or lonely/ 
 
 FOLIAGE 
 
 89. I. height Of/ 
 
 s! 
 
 4- 
 
 5- 
 
 22. 
 
 I. 
 
 39- 
 
 2. 
 
 43- 
 61. 
 
 2 
 
 89. 
 
 i3. 
 
 99. 
 
 I. 
 
 107. 
 
 2. 
 
 Ep. 
 Ep. 
 Ep. 
 
 7- 
 10. 
 34- 
 
Index. 
 
 41 
 
 41. 
 
 3- 
 
 Deep/. 
 
 FONT 
 
 29. 
 
 3. 
 
 cold baptismal/ 
 
 FOOL 
 
 Pro. 
 4- 
 10. 
 
 69. 
 69. 
 no. 
 
 8. 
 4- 
 3- 
 3- 
 4- 
 3- 
 
 We 3.re. fools and slight 
 
 the/ of loss 
 
 ThQ/ools of habit 
 / that wears a crown 
 
 They called me/. 
 
 the brazen/ 
 
 FOOL-FURY 
 
 127. 
 
 2. 
 
 red/ of the Seine 
 
 FOOT 
 
 Pro. 
 
 2. 
 
 thy/ Is on the skull 
 
 with equal /^^ 
 
 set thy feet 
 
 walks with aimless/?^/' 
 
 Whose/^^ are guided 
 
 Thy feet have stray'd 
 
 my feet are set 
 
 Her /<r^^, my darling 
 
 25- 
 
 37- 
 54- 
 66. 
 
 102. 
 
 102. 
 
 Ep. 
 
 2. 
 2. 
 3- 
 4. 
 6. 
 13- 
 
 85. II. 
 
 85. 28. 
 
 lo,. 5. 
 
 64. 
 
 73- 
 79- 
 
 112. 
 
 112. 
 
 125. 
 
 114. 2. 
 15. 2. 
 
 3- 3- 
 
 13. I. 
 
 16. 2. 
 
 33- I- 
 
 47- 2. 
 
 61. 3. 
 
 79. 2. 
 
 87. 10. 
 
 89. II. 
 
 91. 2. 
 
 FOOTSTEP 
 
 The/i7^/.f/i?/j of his life 
 at his/, leaps no more 
 no/ beat the floor 
 guide W&r footsteps 
 
 FORCE 
 
 by/ his merit known 
 the large results of/ 
 of what/ thou art 
 with/ and skill 
 boldness gather/ 
 this electric/ 
 
 FORD 
 
 passing thro' the/ 
 
 FOREHEAD 
 
 on her/ sits a fire 
 
 FOREST 
 
 The/ crack'd 
 
 FORM 
 
 A hollow/ 
 
 A late lost/ 
 
 no more of transient/ 
 
 to fix itself to/ 
 
 Eternal/ 
 
 Where thy first/ 
 
 The same sweet/'r;«.y 
 
 seem to lift the/ 
 
 in/ and gloss 
 
 Come, wear the/ 
 
 91. 
 95- 
 
 IDS- 
 
 106. 
 
 71- 
 127. 
 
 64. 
 
 85. 
 109. 
 
 83. 
 
 52. 
 
 FORM {continued) 
 in thine after/ 
 matter-moulded forms 
 keep an ancient/ 
 fori7is of party strife 
 veil His wantin/(7r?«j 
 seeming-random/^rwj 
 flow From/ to/ 
 
 FORTRESS 
 
 The / and the moun- 
 tain-ridge 
 The/ crashes 
 
 FORTUNE 
 
 F.''s crowning slope 
 
 FOUNTAIN 
 
 show'd him in the/ 
 household foitntaifis 
 
 FOX-GLOVE 
 
 bring the/ spire 
 
 FRAILTY 
 
 human/ do me wrong 
 
 14. 
 36. 
 45- 
 50. 
 78. 
 86. 
 93- 
 Ep. 
 
 in all his/ 
 our mystic/ 
 / that binds him in 
 the sensuous/ 
 all this mystic/ 
 throughout my/ 
 blindness of the/ 
 changed the/ 
 
 FRAME-WORK 
 
 87. 6. /. of the land 
 
 FRANCE 
 
 71. I. went thro' summer ^. 
 Ep. 20. grape of eastern F. 
 
 FREEDOM 
 
 4. a love of / 
 
 4. / in her regal seat 
 
 FREIGHT 
 
 2. thy dark/ 
 
 FRIEND 
 
 1. Other friends remain 
 II. unto me no second/ 
 
 4. My/, the brother 
 4. Comes he thus, my/ 
 
 3. at once, my/ to thee 
 
 2. my/ is richly shrined 
 7. old/ remember me 
 
 3. the name oi friends 
 3. jest among \i\%frie7ids 
 
 109. 
 109. 
 
 6. 
 6. 
 9- 
 12. 
 
 41. 
 57- 
 64. 
 65. 
 66. 
 
142 
 
 hidex. 
 
 
 FRIEND {continued) 
 
 
 
 GAME 
 
 84. 
 
 
 Thy blood, my/. 
 
 29. 
 
 2. 
 
 and g. and jest 
 
 85. 
 
 15- 
 
 beat again For other 
 
 78. 
 
 3- 
 
 our ancient games 
 
 
 
 friends 
 
 102. 
 
 5- 
 
 in a losing g. 
 
 85. 
 
 25- 
 
 your pardon, O my_/ 
 
 105. 
 
 6. 
 
 nor z. nor feast 
 
 87. 
 
 
 youthfuiy>-/>«^i- 
 
 
 
 GARDEN 
 
 98. 
 
 
 /. from / Is oftener 
 
 
 
 
 
 parted 
 
 43- 
 
 3- 
 
 Still g. of the souls 
 
 100. 
 
 
 memory of my f. 
 
 lOI. 
 
 5- 
 
 the g. and the wild 
 
 102. 
 
 
 with thy losty: 
 
 
 
 GARDEN-WALK 
 
 114. 
 126. 
 
 
 Of., who camest 
 tidings of my f 
 
 102. 
 
 2. 
 
 down the garden-walks 
 
 129. 
 
 
 Dear/, far off 
 
 
 
 GATE 
 
 129. 
 
 
 Dear heavenlyy! 
 
 85. 
 
 6. 
 
 the blessed g. 
 
 129. 
 
 
 Strange/ 
 
 94. 
 
 4- 
 
 listen at the gates 
 
 Ep. 
 
 35- 
 
 That/ of mine 
 
 
 
 GATHER (verb) 
 
 
 
 FRIENDSHIP 
 
 95- 
 
 IS- 
 
 gathering freshlier 
 
 85. 
 
 9- 
 
 0/ equal-poised 
 
 
 
 GAZE 
 
 85. 
 
 16. 
 
 half of such A/ 
 
 32. 
 
 2. 
 
 her ardent g. 
 
 85. 
 
 20. 
 
 / for the years to come 
 
 
 
 GENERATION 
 
 85. 
 
 28. 
 
 First love, first/ 
 
 40. 
 
 4- 
 
 to knit The gemrai ions 
 
 119. 
 
 3- 
 
 / of thine eye 
 
 
 
 GENTLE {.adj. ) 
 
 
 
 FRINGE 
 
 Ep. 
 
 ID. 
 
 g., liberal-minded 
 
 72. 
 
 3. 
 
 her crimson/r/;/^« 
 
 
 
 GENTLEMAN 
 
 
 
 FRITH 
 
 in. 
 
 6. 
 
 grand old name of g. 
 
 Ep. 
 
 29. 
 
 o'er ^^ friths 
 
 
 
 GENTLENESS 
 
 
 
 FRONT 
 
 III. 
 
 3- 
 
 The g. he seem'd to be 
 
 119. 
 
 2. 
 
 the black/r^«/j 
 
 
 
 GHOST 
 
 solemn g. 
 
 
 
 
 85- 
 
 9- 
 
 
 
 FROST 
 
 93- 
 
 4- 
 
 My G. may feel 
 
 4- 
 
 3- 
 
 shaken into/ 
 
 
 
 GIANT 
 
 78. 
 81. 
 
 2. 
 3- 
 
 sparkled keen with/ 
 My sudden/ 
 
 118. 
 
 '• 
 
 g. laboring in his youth 
 
 GIFT 
 
 
 
 FRUIT 
 
 85. 
 
 12. 
 
 gifts of grace 
 
 40. 
 
 5- 
 
 bears immortal/ 
 
 8S- 
 
 3- 
 
 take the imperfect g. 
 g. of years before 
 
 loS. 
 
 4- 
 
 take what/ may be 
 
 97- 
 
 7- 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 GIRL 
 
 64. 
 
 7- 
 
 FURROW 
 
 in the/ musing stands 
 
 FURY 
 
 52. 
 60. 
 
 4- 
 
 I. 
 
 like an idle g. 
 Like some poor g. 
 
 GLADE 
 
 so- 
 
 2. 
 
 Life a F. slinging flame 
 
 FURZE 
 
 lOI. 
 
 6. 
 
 lops the glades 
 
 GLADNESS 
 
 il. 
 
 2. 
 
 dews that drench the/ 
 
 24. 
 
 3- 
 
 former g. 
 
 
 
 
 30. 
 
 2. 
 
 vain pretence Of g. 
 
 
 
 G. 
 
 31- 
 
 3- 
 
 A solemn g. 
 
 
 
 
 32. 
 
 3- 
 
 Borne down by g. 
 
 
 
 GAIN 
 
 
 
 GLANCE 
 
 54- 
 
 3- 
 
 subserves another's g. 
 
 84. 
 
 2. 
 
 In g. and smile 
 
 117. 
 
 I. 
 
 g. of after bliss 
 
 
 
 GLASS 
 
 
 
 GALE 
 
 6. 
 
 9- 
 
 havmg left the g. 
 
 2. 
 
 3- 
 
 changest not in any g. 
 
 '5- 
 
 3- 
 
 plane of molten g. 
 
Index. 
 
 143 
 
 
 
 GLASS {continued) 
 
 
 
 GOD {contintied) 
 
 87. 
 
 s- 
 
 boys That crashed the ^. 
 
 55- 
 
 2. 
 
 Are God and nature 
 
 107. 
 
 4- 
 
 brim the g. 
 
 
 
 then at strife 
 
 
 
 GLEAM 
 
 55- 
 
 4- 
 
 darkness up to God 
 
 38. 
 
 2. 
 4. 
 
 doubtful ^. of solace 
 yonder greening g. 
 
 56. 
 73. 
 
 85. 
 
 4- 
 3- 
 5. 
 
 trusted God was love 
 It rests with God 
 God^s finger touch'd 
 
 
 
 GLEBE 
 
 87. 
 
 9- 
 
 The God within him 
 
 lOI. 
 
 6. 
 
 His wonted g. 
 
 III. 
 
 5. 
 
 God and nature met 
 
 
 
 GLOBE 
 
 130. 
 
 3- 
 
 mix'd with God 
 
 84. 
 
 9- 
 
 fail from off the g. 
 
 Ep. 
 
 35- 
 
 who lives in God 
 
 2. 
 
 3- 
 
 GLOOM 
 
 thousand years of g. 
 
 Ep. 
 Ep. 
 
 36. 
 36. 
 
 God which ever lives 
 One God one law 
 
 39- 
 
 3- 
 
 g. is kindled at the tips 
 
 
 
 GODS 
 
 43- 
 
 I. 
 
 intervital g. 
 
 93. 
 
 3- 
 
 gods in unconjectured 
 
 70. 
 
 i_ 
 
 on the^. I strive 
 
 
 
 bliss 
 
 86. 
 
 I. 
 
 gorgeous g. Of evening 
 
 96. 
 
 6. 
 
 their gods of gold 
 
 95- 
 
 14. 
 
 from out the distant g. 
 
 
 
 GOLD 
 
 109. 
 122. 
 
 3- 
 
 no ascetic g. 
 burst the folded g. 
 
 96. 
 
 6. 
 
 their gods of g. 
 
 Ep. 
 
 30. 
 
 With tender g. 
 
 GLORY 
 
 106. 
 
 7- 
 
 narrowing lust of g. 
 
 GOOD 
 
 24. 
 
 4- 
 
 will always win A g. 
 
 3- 
 
 4- 
 
 as my natural g. 
 
 67. 
 
 
 a g. on the walls 
 
 6. 
 
 II. 
 
 to me remains of g. 
 
 67. 
 
 3' 
 
 mystic g. swims away 
 
 33- 
 
 3- 
 
 quicker unto g. 
 
 69. 
 
 5. 
 
 the g. of a hand 
 
 47- 
 
 3- 
 
 each the other's^. 
 
 88. 
 
 3. 
 
 g. of the sum of things 
 
 53- 
 
 4- 
 
 Hold thou the g. 
 
 118. 
 
 5. 
 
 of woe Like glories 
 
 54. 
 
 I. 
 
 trust that somehow g. 
 trust that g. shall fall 
 
 121. 
 
 I. 
 
 a.g. done 
 
 54- 
 
 4- 
 
 
 
 
 84. 
 
 2. 
 
 crown'd w ith g. 
 
 I. 
 
 3. 
 
 GLOSS 
 
 keep her raven g. 
 
 106. 
 109. 
 
 6. 
 3. 
 
 common love of g. 
 amorous of the g. 
 
 
 
 GLOW 
 
 128. 
 
 2. 
 
 ye mysteries of g. 
 
 2. 
 
 3- 
 
 not for thee the g. 
 
 129. 
 
 3- 
 
 a dream of g. 
 
 12. 
 
 3- 
 
 g. of southern skies 
 
 
 
 GOSSAMER 
 
 84. 
 
 I. 
 
 thoughts on all the g. 
 GO (z/eri?) 
 
 II. 
 
 2. 
 
 the silvery gossamers 
 
 12. 
 
 2. 
 
 Like her I g. 
 
 
 
 GOWN 
 
 20. 
 
 5- 
 
 and he is gone 
 
 87. 
 
 I. 
 
 I wore the g. 
 
 123. 
 
 13- 
 
 and g. with us 
 
 
 
 GRACE. 
 
 
 
 GOAL 
 
 8S- 
 
 12. 
 
 gifts of g. 
 
 54- 
 
 I. 
 
 final g. of ill 
 
 109, 
 
 5- 
 
 fused with female g. 
 
 72. 
 84. 
 114. 
 
 7- 
 6. 
 
 dull g. of joyless gray 
 the blessed^, 
 earnest to thy g. 
 
 GOD 
 
 41. 
 
 3- 
 
 GRADE 
 
 grades of life and light 
 
 GRAIN 
 
 Pro. 
 
 I. 
 
 Strong Son of God 
 
 53. 
 
 2. 
 
 scarce had grown The^. 
 
 6. 
 
 4- 
 
 praying God will save 
 
 65. 
 
 I. 
 
 g. shall not be spilt 
 
 10. 
 
 4- 
 
 the grapes of God 
 
 81. 
 
 3. 
 
 all ripeness to the g. 
 
 34- 
 
 3- 
 
 What then were God 
 
 117. 
 
 3. 
 
 every g. of sand 
 
 44. 
 
 I. 
 
 G^a? shut the doorways 
 
 
 
 
 51- 
 
 4- 
 
 Ye watch like God 
 
 
 
 GRANGE 
 
 54- 
 
 2. 
 
 God hath made the pile 
 
 91. 
 
 3. 
 
 the lonely g. 
 
 55- 
 
 I. 
 
 God within the soul 
 
 100. 
 
 2. 
 
 No gray old g. 
 
144 
 
 Index. 
 
 35- 6. 
 
 t.p. 20. 
 
 21. I. 
 
 128. 5. 
 Ep. 24. 
 
 122. 
 
 Ep. 
 
 GRAPE 
 
 crush'd the g. 
 The foaming g. 
 
 GRASS 
 
 grasses round me wave 
 tuft with g. 
 cloudlets on the g. 
 
 wandering g. 
 grasses of the g. 
 weeping by his g. 
 digs the g. 
 
 the &?ixV graves of men 
 I wrong the g. 
 fail beyond the g. 
 example from the g. 
 Above more graves 
 the g. Divide us not 
 they pass the g. 
 To-day the g. is bright 
 
 GREATNESS 
 
 thy g. to be guess'd 
 what his g. is 
 
 64. I. 
 
 75- 4- 
 
 57- 4- 
 
 Pro. ID. 
 
 4- 3- 
 
 24. 
 61. 
 
 75- 
 77- 
 78. 
 80. 
 
 85. 2. 
 
 85- 13- 
 
 85. 24. 
 
 105. 3- 
 
 106. 3. 
 
 simple village g. 
 perish'd in the g. 
 
 GREETING 
 
 greetittgs to the dead 
 
 GRIEF 
 
 Forgive my g. 
 
 g. hath shaken into 
 
 frost 
 the g. I feel 
 that large g. 
 a calmer^, 
 hush'd my deepest g. 
 The lesser griefs 
 other griefs within 
 the haze of g. 
 not the voice of g. 
 measure of my^. 
 page that tells A g. 
 O g. CAwg. be changed 
 g. my loss in him had 
 
 wrought 
 which is our common^, 
 in my g. a strength 
 g. with symbols play 
 midmost heart of g. 
 shall wayward g. 
 Ring out the g. 
 
 Ep. 
 Ep. 
 
 6. 
 
 7 
 
 69. 
 
 3 
 
 84. 
 
 8 
 
 98. 
 
 8. 
 
 103. 
 
 2 
 
 103. 
 
 3 
 
 Ep. 
 
 29. 
 
 10. 
 
 28. 
 
 GROUND 
 
 to beat the g. 
 here upon the g. 
 beneath the g. 
 new unhallow'd^. 
 
 GROVE 
 
 gird the windy g. 
 GROW {verb) 
 g. incorporate into thee 
 But as he grows 
 grown To something 
 For thee she grejv 
 
 GROWTH 
 
 train To riper g. 
 like g. of time 
 
 GUARD 
 
 his faithful g. 
 
 GUIDE 
 
 was g. to each 
 GUIDE {verb) 
 alone had guided m& 
 GUESS {verb) 
 I cannot^. 
 
 GUEST 
 
 expectation of a g. 
 a welcome g. 
 myself an honor'd g. 
 A g. or happy sister 
 Conjecture of a stiller^. 
 
 GULF 
 
 shudders at the gulfs 
 g. that ever shuts 
 
 GUST 
 
 g. that round the gar- 
 den flew 
 
 H. 
 
 HAIR 
 
 ranging golden h. 
 hoary hairs 
 silver h. 
 
 HALL 
 
 Imperial halls 
 dwelt within a h. 
 h. with harp and carol 
 The white-faced halls 
 
 HAMLET 
 
 kneeling h. 
 
 vclces of four hamlets 
 
Index. 
 
 145 
 
 33- 
 36- 
 40. 
 55- 
 64. 
 69. 
 70. 
 72. 
 75- 
 
 89. 
 102. 
 105. 
 125. 
 
 HAMMER 
 
 4. hear'st the village h. 
 
 HAMMOCK-SHROUD 
 
 4. heavy-shotted h. 
 
 I. 2. 
 
 3- 3- 
 
 7. I. 
 
 7. 2. 
 
 3- 
 3- 
 3- 
 3- 
 
 8. 
 5- 
 7- 
 5- 
 2. 
 
 5- 
 5- 
 80. 4- 
 
 84. II. 
 
 85. 10. 
 87. 5. 
 
 106. 8. 
 109. 5- 
 114. 5- 
 
 124. 6. 
 
 129. 2. 
 Ep. 18. 
 Ep. 33- 
 
 Ep. 12. 
 
 HAND 
 
 reach a //. thro' time 
 form with empty hands 
 waiting for a h. 
 k. that can be clasped 
 letters unto trembling 
 
 hands 
 hands so often clasp'd 
 warm hands have prest 
 strike a sudden h. 
 Come then, pure hajtds 
 hands ■a.re. quicker 
 With human hands 
 have shaken hands 
 stretch lame hands 
 the labor of his hands 
 the glory of a h. 
 h. that points 
 h. struck down 
 hands are set to do 
 Reach out dead hands 
 the shining h. 
 act at human hands 
 clapping hands 
 the kindlier h. 
 twine A trustful h. 
 higher h. must make 
 pressure of thine h. 
 out of darkness came 
 
 the Juinds 
 Sweet human h. 
 to whom her h. I gave 
 in her >^. Is Nature 
 
 HARDIHOOD 
 
 Sick for thy stubborn h. 
 
 HARM 
 
 all her life from h. 
 
 HART 
 
 sings To one clear h. 
 my h. would prelude 
 here she brought the h. 
 with h. and carol rang 
 Nor h. be touch'd 
 notes my h. would give 
 
 HASTE 
 
 tho' I walk in h. 
 
 HAUNT 
 
 h. of fears 
 
 59. 2. 
 
 23. I. 
 39- 2. 
 44. I. 
 
 73- 2. 
 
 94. I. 
 
 Ep. 13. 
 
 Ep. 29. 
 
 Ep. 21. 
 
 Ep. 26. 
 
 19. I. 
 
 57- 3- 
 
 4. I. 
 
 4. 2. 
 
 5. 2. 
 
 6. 2. 
 
 7. I. 
 
 8. 5- 
 II. 4. 
 
 25- 
 
 3. 
 
 27. 
 
 3- 
 
 37- 
 
 4- 
 
 42. 
 
 I. 
 
 50- 
 
 I. 
 
 58. 
 
 2. 
 
 62. 
 
 2. 
 
 63. 
 
 I. 
 
 66. 
 
 I. 
 
 79- 
 
 I. 
 
 82. 
 
 4- 
 
 85. 
 
 9. 
 
 HAVE {verb) 
 wilt h. me wise 
 
 HAZEL 
 
 hazels tassel-hung 
 
 HEAD 
 
 while thy h. is bow'd 
 bear the'/t. That sleeps 
 cloak'd from h. to foot 
 toward the dreamless h. 
 the doorways of his h. 
 I sink my h. 
 h. hath miss'd 
 sound in h. 
 tablets round her h. 
 every mountain h. 
 
 HEALTH 
 
 h. to bride and groom 
 the double h. 
 
 HEAR 
 
 I h. it now 
 cannot h. each other 
 were fed to h. him 
 myself have heard him 
 
 HEARER 
 
 wluch outran The h. 
 
 HEARING 
 
 in the h. of the wave 
 till h. dies 
 
 HEART 
 
 with my h. I muse 
 O h. , how fares it 
 unquiet h. and brain 
 but some h. did break 
 my h. was used to beat 
 O my forsaken h. 
 in my h. if calm at all 
 where h. on h. reposed 
 falling on his faithful h. 
 The darken'd h. 
 melt the waxen hearts 
 weary h. or limb. 
 h. that never plighted 
 an aching h. 
 vex my h. with fancies 
 the h. is sick 
 the peace Of hearts 
 On some unworthy h. 
 no weight upon my h. 
 my h. too far diseased 
 not vex thee, noble h. 
 gamers in my h. 
 O h. with kindliest mo- 
 tion 
 
46 
 
 Index. 
 
 85. 
 
 27- 
 
 85- 
 
 29. 
 
 88. 
 
 2. 
 
 89. 
 
 6. 
 
 94. 
 
 I. 
 
 94. 
 
 4- 
 
 95- 
 
 6. 
 
 97. 
 
 3. 
 
 97- 
 
 5- 
 
 106. 
 
 8. 
 
 loS. 
 
 
 119. 
 
 I. 
 
 124. 
 
 4- 
 
 Ep. 
 
 21. 
 
 20 4. 
 
 30. I. 
 
 78. 1. 
 
 98. 5. 
 
 107. 
 IC9. 
 
 HEART {cotiihmed) 
 with the virgin h. 
 My h., tho' vvidow'd 
 midmost h. of grief 
 h. and ear were fed 
 How pure at h. 
 h. is full of din 
 A hunger seized my h. 
 hearts of old have 
 
 beat 
 slight her simple h. 
 The larger h. 
 not eat my h. alone 
 my h. was used to beat 
 the h. Stood up 
 And hearts diXQ warm'd 
 
 HEART-AFFLUENCE 
 
 I. H. in discursive talk 
 
 HEARTH 
 
 by the h. the children 
 round the Christmas h. 
 round the Christmas A. 
 By each cold h. 
 
 HEAT 
 
 outliving heats of youth 
 winking thro' the h. 
 solid core of h. 
 not the schoolboy h. 
 tracts of fluent h. 
 
 16. 3- 
 
 33- 2. 
 
 40. 5. 
 
 63. I. 
 
 76. I. 
 
 90. I. 
 
 108. 2. 
 
 122. I. 
 
 Ep. 27. 
 
 23. 6. 
 
 47- 4- 
 
 63. 3- 
 
 90. 4. 
 
 53- 4- 
 127. 5- 
 
 118. 
 
 Sleep, gentle heavens 
 bear thro' H. a tale of 
 
 woe 
 shadow of a h. 
 Her early H. 
 energies of h. 
 assumptions up to h. 
 starry heavens of space 
 Where nighest h. 
 heaven's highest height 
 the eternal Heavens 
 in h. the steaming cloud 
 
 HEIGHT 
 
 On Argive heights 
 last and sharpest h. 
 higher h. a deeper deep 
 
 HEIR 
 
 The hard h. 
 
 HELL 
 
 the Lords of H. 
 the fires of H. 
 
 HERALD 
 
 h. of a higher race 
 
 35- 
 56. 
 72. 
 79- 
 84. 
 89. 
 98. 
 100. 
 
 lOI. 
 123- 
 
 33- 
 44. 
 
 103. 
 
 28. 
 
 14- 
 40. 
 102. 
 
 HERB 
 
 6. bruised the h. 
 I. the h. was dry 
 
 HERN 
 
 4. haunts of h. and crake 
 
 HESPER 
 
 1. H. o'er the buried sun 
 
 HESPER-PHOSPHOR 
 
 5. Sweet H. , double name 
 
 HILL 
 
 2. a silence in the hills 
 
 3. the la\dsh hills 
 
 1. bells from h. to h. 
 
 3. .Ionian hills 
 
 5. the iron hills 
 
 4. Along the hills 
 
 2. h. and wood 
 
 7. below the golden hills 
 
 8. the bounding h. 
 I. those fair hills 
 
 1. I climb the h. 
 
 6. circle of the hills 
 
 2. The hills are shadows 
 
 HINT 
 
 5. No h. of death 
 
 2. with shadow 'd h. con- 
 fuse 
 
 2. a mystic h. 
 
 HISTORY 
 
 9. one would chant the h. 
 
 HOLD 
 
 4. my h. on life 
 HOLD {verb) 
 4. I -^. it true 
 
 HOLLY 
 
 I. did we weave The h. 
 I. did we weave The h. 
 I. h. by the cottage-eave 
 
 HOLY LAND 
 
 II. He that died in //. 
 
 HOME 
 
 1. gone and far from A. 
 
 3. a thousand things of h. 
 
 2. her latest leave of h. 
 
 2. ere we go from h. 
 
 HOODMAN-BLIND 
 
 3. dance and song and h. 
 
 HOPE 
 
 3. descended following /(^. 
 
Index. 
 
 H7 
 
 125 
 128 
 
 6. 
 
 63- 
 Ep. 
 
 35- 
 39- 
 40. 
 43- 
 46. 
 46. 
 
 51- 
 72. 
 84. 
 
 85 27. 
 
 94. I. 
 
 102. 4. 
 
 104. 2. 
 
 105- 3- 
 
 111. 4. 
 
 112. 3. 
 126. I. 
 128. 3- 
 Ep. 17. 
 Ep. iS. 
 
 7. 1. 
 
 29. 3. 
 
 31- 3- 
 
 35- I- 
 
 HOPE {contijiued) 
 . when f/. was born 
 
 nor is there A. in dust 
 . hopes and Hght regrets 
 A^/^j and fears 
 trust the larger /t. 
 What k. of answer 
 A. for years to come 
 What A. is here 
 /;. of richer store 
 whose hopes were dim 
 The mighty hopes 
 , h. of unaccomplish'd 
 years 
 h. could never hope 
 . H. had never lost 
 , fly with h. and fear 
 
 HORSE 
 
 , falling from his A. 
 pity for a h. o'erdriven 
 white-favor'd horses 
 
 my A. has part 
 
 HOUR 
 
 the victor Aottrs 
 
 at that last h. 
 
 I have been an A. away 
 
 Is this an A. 
 
 but for one h. O Love 
 
 the golden A. 
 
 the widow'd h. 
 
 the sliding /;. 
 
 the growing A. 
 
 holers of still increase. 
 
 the rolling Aoiirs 
 
 the dolorous A. 
 
 remorseless iron A. 
 
 bounteous Aours 
 
 the golden hours 
 
 an hoztr^s communion 
 
 in after hours 
 
 at this A. of rest 
 
 abuse The genial A. 
 
 office of the social A. 
 
 from A. to /z. 
 
 every h. his couriers 
 
 Wild Hours that fly 
 
 ^. and happier hours 
 
 happy A. 
 
 HOUSE 
 dark h. 
 
 portals of the A. 
 From every A. 
 from the narrov/ h. 
 
 36. 
 60. 
 84. 
 95- 
 
 97- 
 
 108. 
 
 107. 
 127. 
 
 85. 
 102. 
 
 94- 3- 
 
 HOUSE {continued) 
 
 4. Or builds the A. 
 3. In that dark A. 
 
 3. one Of mine own A. 
 
 5. in the A. light after 
 
 light 
 8. matters of the A. 
 
 HOWLING 
 
 4. hoivlbigs from forgotten 
 
 fields 
 
 HUE 
 
 1. the hues are faint 
 
 2. takes a lovelier A. 
 
 HUNGER 
 
 6. A A. seized my heart 
 
 HYMN 
 
 3. chanting Ayinns 
 
 HYSTERICS 
 
 4. blind A. of the Celt 
 
 I. 
 
 ICE 
 
 2. /. Makes daggers 
 
 3. The spires of i. 
 
 IDEAL 
 
 3. that i. which he bears 
 
 ILL 
 
 ■;. suffer'd countless ills 
 
 IMAGE 
 
 /. comforting the mind 
 one pure /. of regret 
 
 IMAGINATION 
 
 Irnagi7tations calm 
 The strong i. roll 
 
 INCREASE 
 
 46. 
 
 3- 
 
 hours of still t. 
 
 INDIFFERENCE 
 
 26. 
 
 3- 
 
 the /. to be 
 
 INFANT 
 
 54. 
 
 54- 
 
 5- 
 
 5- 
 
 /. crying in the nijght 
 /. crying for the light 
 
 INFLUENCE 
 
 49. 
 
 I. 
 
 random influences 
 
 INSECT 
 
 124. 
 
 2. 
 
 insect's eye 
 
 INSUFFICIENCY 
 
 112. 
 
 I. 
 
 glorious insufficiencies 
 
148 
 
 Index, 
 
 8s. 12. 
 
 95. 12. 
 
 109. 2. 
 
 113. 2, 
 
 85. 6. 
 
 103. 6. 
 
 98. 3. 
 
 45- 
 96. 
 
 Ep. 
 
 INTELLECT 
 
 All-subtilizing /. 
 ev'n for /. to reach 
 Seraphic /. 
 keen In /. 
 
 INTELLIGENCE 
 
 great Intelligences fair 
 
 INTEREST 
 
 far off i. of tears 
 
 IRIS 
 
 under ranks Of /. 
 
 IRON 
 
 /. dug from central 
 gloom 
 
 ISLE 
 
 wandering isles 
 Enwind her isles 
 
 ISOLATION 
 
 His /. grows defined 
 
 ISRAEL 
 
 /. made their gods 
 
 " I-WILL " 
 
 her sweet " /." 
 J- 
 
 JAR 
 
 94. 4. hear the household y. 
 
 JAW 
 
 34. 4. Jaws Of vacant dark- 
 ness 
 
 66. 
 84. 
 
 I 
 
 JEST 
 
 J. among h^s friends 
 graceful/. 
 
 38. 
 
 2. 
 
 JOY 
 
 No/, the blowing sea- 
 
 40. 
 88. 
 89. 
 22. 
 
 3- 
 2. 
 4. 
 4- 
 
 son gives 
 Joys the father move 
 clasps a secret/. 
 Ohy. to him 
 the former flash of /. 
 
 96. 
 
 4- 
 
 JUDGMENT 
 
 make his/, blind 
 
 3. Thy sliding k. 
 I. noise about thv k. 
 
 23. 
 26. 
 64. 
 
 "7- 3- 
 Ep. 23. 
 
 79. 4. 
 Ep. 12. 
 
 6. 
 35- 
 
 47- 
 59- 
 60. 
 85. 
 96. 
 
 99. 
 no. 
 
 129. 2. 
 
 Pro. 6. 
 
 Pro. 7. 
 
 16. 4. 
 
 85. 7. 
 
 114. I. 
 
 Ep. 33- 
 
 KEY 
 
 keys of all the creeds 
 waiting with the keys 
 clutch the golden keys 
 
 KIND 
 
 kindly with my k. 
 are one in k. 
 What k. of hfe 
 shut me from my k. 
 
 KINDRED 
 
 Thy k. with the great 
 
 KINE 
 
 The white k. glimmer'd 
 The white k. glimmer'd 
 
 KING 
 
 the blaze of kings 
 By blood a k. 
 my Lord and K. 
 my K. and Lord 
 
 KISS 
 
 k. of toothed wheels 
 
 KISS {z'erb) 
 Farewell, we k. 
 
 KNEE 
 
 At one dear k. 
 danced her on my k. 
 
 KNOLL 
 
 reveal'd The knolls 
 KNOW {verb) 
 Ye k. no more than I 
 to k. that I shall 
 
 die 
 I shall k. him 
 howsoe'er I k. thee 
 she kno^i^us not what 
 could better k. than I 
 I k. not ; one indeed I 
 
 kjicw 
 They k. me not 
 and he knew not 
 
 why 
 A 7WMn and tinktiown 
 
 KNOWLEDGE 
 
 k. is of things we 
 
 see 
 Let k. grow from more 
 
 to more 
 my k. of myself 
 k. that the sons of flesh 
 Who loves not K. 
 shall look On k. 
 
Index. 
 
 149 
 
 L. 
 
 LABOR 
 
 64. 7. reaps the /. of his hands 
 84. 7. thy prosperous /. fills 
 87. 6. /. and the changing 
 mart 
 
 LABORER 
 
 loi. 6. year by year the /. tills 
 
 LABURNUM 
 
 83. 3. Laburnums dropping- 
 wells of fire 
 
 LABYRINTH 
 
 97. 6. the /. of the mind 
 
 LADING 
 
 25. 3. The /. of a single pain 
 
 LAKE 
 
 16. 2. than some dead /. 
 
 LAMP 
 
 98. 7. all is gay with lamps 
 
 LANCE 
 
 49. I. many a shiver'd /. 
 
 LAND 
 
 10. 2. from foreign latids 
 14. I. hadst touch'd the /. 
 
 violet of his native /. 
 
 lands where not a leaf 
 
 sweep the winter /. 
 
 in undiscover'd lands 
 
 guided thro' the /. 
 
 strides about their lands 
 
 from the native /. 
 
 In lands where not a 
 memory strays 
 
 their lives From I. to /. 
 
 the solid lands 
 
 LANDING-PLACE 
 
 4. Some /., to clasp 
 
 LAND-MARK 
 
 3. Nor /. breathes 
 
 LANDSCAPE 
 
 2. eternal /. of the past 
 
 4. The /. winking 
 
 1. Of all the/, underneath 
 
 5. year by year the /. grow 
 
 LANE 
 
 2. /. of early dawn 
 
 LANGUAGE 
 
 2. use in measured /. lies 
 5. no /. but a cry 
 
 18. 
 
 I 
 
 23- 
 
 3 
 
 30. 
 
 3- 
 
 40. 
 
 8. 
 
 66. 
 
 3- 
 
 90. 
 
 4- 
 
 93- 
 
 I 
 
 04. 
 
 3. 
 
 15- 
 
 5 
 
 23- 
 
 2. 
 
 104. 
 
 16. 
 
 68. 
 115- 
 
 70. 
 
 37- 
 
 33- 
 
 48. 
 73- 
 85. 
 87. 
 89. 
 
 15- 
 
 23- 
 
 43- 
 69. 
 
 75- 
 88. 
 95- 
 95- 
 98. 
 Ep. 
 
 LARCH 
 plumelets tuft the /. 
 
 LARK 
 
 the shadow of a /. 
 /. had left the lea 
 /. a sightless song 
 
 LATTICE 
 
 thro' a /. on the soul 
 
 LAUREL 
 
 hear thy /. whisper 
 
 LAW 
 
 holding by the /. within 
 serves a wholesome /. 
 that errs from /. 
 loyal unto kindly laws 
 in the bounds of I. 
 purlieus of the /. 
 her motion one with /. 
 
 LAWN 
 
 the floor Of this flat /. 
 we linger'd on the /. 
 lights on /. and lea 
 
 LAY 
 
 these brief lays 
 trust a larger /. 
 deepest lays are dumb 
 
 LAY (verb) 
 And laid them 
 
 LAZAR 
 
 the /. in his rags 
 
 LAZARUS 
 
 L. left his charnel-cave 
 
 LEA 
 
 his native /. 
 
 LEAF 
 
 thro' the faded /. 
 leaves that redden 
 The last red /. 
 not a /. was dumb 
 many a figured /. 
 seem'd to touch it into /. 
 Thy /. has perish'd 
 the darkening /. 
 those fall'n leaves 
 leaves of the sycamore 
 brown Of Xxxsiier leaves 
 The dead /. trembles 
 
 LEAGUE 
 
 4. leagues of odor 
 
ISO 
 
 Index, 
 
 40. 
 
 58. 
 
 59- 
 
 100. 
 103. 
 114. 
 
 37- 
 84. 
 62. 
 70. 
 59- 
 79- 
 98. 
 
 67. 
 84. 
 95- 
 
 LEARN {verb) 
 
 And when they learnt 
 
 LEAVE 
 
 latest /. of home 
 take a nobler /. 
 /. at times to play 
 LEAVE {verb) 
 leaving these to pass 
 wilt thou /. us now 
 leavi?ig me behind 
 
 LEDCE 
 
 ledges of the hill 
 
 LEGACY 
 
 legacies of thought 
 
 LEGEND 
 
 fading /. of the past 
 
 LENGTH 
 
 lazy lengtJis 
 LESSEN {verb) 
 Nor will it /. 
 
 LESSON 
 
 One /. from one book 
 
 LETHE 
 
 wisp that gleams On L. 
 
 LETTER 
 
 letters unto trembling 
 
 hands 
 letters of thy name 
 flowery walk Of letters 
 letters of the dead 
 
 LEVER 
 
 /. to uplift the earth 
 
 27. 
 
 2. 
 
 LICENSE 
 
 His /. in the field of time 
 
 LIE 
 
 2=;. 
 128. 
 
 2. 
 
 4- 
 
 play'd with gracious lies 
 with glorious lies 
 
 LIFE 
 
 Pro. 
 2. 
 6. 
 
 7- 
 10. 
 
 2. 
 
 3- 
 3- 
 2. 
 
 Thou madest L. 
 little lives of men 
 Hath stili'd the /. 
 the noise of /. 
 a vanish'd /. 
 
 13- 
 14. 
 
 iS. 
 25- 
 
 3- 
 4- 
 4- 
 
 a /. removed 
 how my /. had droop'd 
 the /. that almost dies 
 I know that this wasZ. 
 
 26. 
 
 3- 
 
 In more of /. true /. 
 
 28. 
 32. 
 32. 
 
 33- 
 
 34- 
 
 34- 
 
 41. 
 
 46. 
 52. 
 53- 
 54- 
 55- 
 55' 
 56- 
 56. 
 
 57- 
 
 66. 
 80. 
 82. 
 82. 
 84. 
 84. 
 85. 
 85. 
 
 85. 
 
 85. 
 
 86. 
 
 90. 
 
 95- 
 
 97- 
 105. 
 113- 
 IIS- 
 116. 
 
 75- 
 
 LIFE {continued) 
 
 4. my hold on /. 
 
 2. rest upon the Z. indeed 
 
 4. blest whose lives 
 
 2. /. that leads melodious 
 
 days 
 
 I. My own dim /. 
 
 1. /. shall live for ever- 
 more 
 
 5. /. that bears immortal 
 
 fruit 
 
 6. evermore a /. behind 
 
 1 . Lest /. should fail 
 
 4. /. is dash'd with flecks 
 
 3. /. outliving heats 
 
 2. /. shall be destroy'd 
 
 1. No /. may fail 
 
 2. careless of the single /. 
 2. I bring to /. 
 
 7. O /. as futile, then 
 2. my /. I leave behind 
 2. my /. was crost 
 
 2. grief as deep as I. 
 I. no lower /. 
 
 4. our lives so far apart 
 
 1. /. that bad been thine 
 
 3. link thy /. with one 
 
 2. What kind of /. 
 
 8. Whose /. whose 
 
 thoughts 
 
 12. A /. that all the Muses 
 
 deck'd 
 
 24. pining /. be fancy-fed 
 
 3. The full new /. 
 
 2. resume their /. 
 16. like /. and death 
 
 5. Her /. is lone 
 
 4. lives are chiefly proved 
 
 3. A /. in civic action 
 
 4. that live their lives 
 
 2. /. re-orient out of dust 
 
 5. /. is not as idle ore 
 
 2. /. is darken'd 
 4. thoughts of /. 
 
 9. her /. was yet in bud 
 
 12. shielded all her /. 
 
 13. living words of /. 
 
 19. the light of /. increased 
 
 32. /. of lower phase 
 
 LIFETIME 
 
 3. half the /. of an oak 
 
 Pro. 
 Pro. 
 
 broken lights of Thee 
 to bear thy /. 
 all the magic /. 
 thr"^' early /. 
 
Index. 
 
 51 
 
 9- 
 
 4- 
 
 17- 
 
 3- 
 
 22,- 
 
 4- 
 
 30. 
 
 8. 
 
 47- 
 
 4- 
 
 49- 
 
 I. 
 
 50- 
 
 I. 
 
 62. 
 
 3- 
 
 85. 
 
 19- 
 
 91. 
 
 4- 
 
 95- 
 
 5- 
 
 95- 
 [06. 
 
 16. 
 
 US- 
 
 3- 
 
 [21. 
 
 3- 
 
 74- 
 74- 
 
 95- 
 
 25- 
 
 103. 
 87. 
 
 64. 6. 
 
 40. 
 41. 
 Ep. 
 
 J- 
 
 18. 
 
 4- 
 
 22. 
 
 
 39- 
 
 
 48. 
 
 
 84. 
 
 
 19. 
 
 
 23. 
 
 
 LIGHT {continued) 
 Sphere all your lights 
 like a line of /. 
 /. from fancy caught 
 light The /. that shone 
 lose ourselves in /• 
 /. in many a shiver'd 
 
 lance 
 when my /. is low 
 in the /. of deeper eyes 
 change of /. or gloom 
 like a finer /. in /. 
 /. after /. Went out 
 Mixt their dim lights 
 the frosty /. 
 lights on lawn and lea 
 comes the greater /. 
 
 LIGHTNING 
 
 wizard lightnijtgs 
 
 LIKENESS 
 
 A /. hardly seen before 
 /. to the wise below 
 
 LILY 
 
 The lilies to and fro 
 
 LIMB 
 
 heart or /. 
 wax'd in every /. 
 
 LIME {tree) 
 long walk of limes 
 LIME {7nineral) 
 Nature's earth and /. 
 
 LIMIT 
 
 I. of his narrower fate 
 
 LINK 
 
 A /. among the days 
 I have lost the li7iks 
 close /. Betwixt us 
 
 LINNET 
 
 as the linnets sing 
 
 /. born within the cage 
 
 hears the latest /. trill 
 
 LIP 
 
 from thy lying /. 
 breathing thro' his lips 
 murmur on thy /. 
 from thy lying lips 
 loosens from the /. 
 fills The lips of men 
 ihy lips are bland 
 lips may breathe adieu 
 
 21. 7. 
 
 107. 5. 
 
 109. 2. 
 
 26. I. 
 
 10. 3. 
 
 18. 5- 
 
 49- 3- 
 
 69. 4. 
 
 Ep. 8. 
 
 Pro. 5. 
 
 Pro. 9. 
 
 6. 10. 
 
 42. 2. 
 
 53- 4- 
 
 55- 5- 
 
 112. 2. 
 
 126. I. 
 
 126. 2. 
 
 92. 
 103. 
 
 Pro. 
 
 I. 
 
 6. 
 
 LITTLE-ONE 
 
 little-ones have ranged 
 
 LOG 
 
 Bring in great logs 
 
 LOGIC 
 
 Impassion'd /. 
 LONG {verb) 
 for I /. to prove 
 
 LOOK 
 
 This /. of quiet 
 Tieasuring the /. 
 look thy /. 
 the /. was bright 
 they meet thy /. 
 
 LOOK {verb) 
 To /. on her that loves 
 looking back to whence 
 Dost thou /. back 
 I look'd on these 
 He looks so cold 
 And how she look'd 
 
 LORD 
 
 Thou, O Z. art more 
 not from man, O L. 
 her future L. 
 I. of large experience 
 to the Lords oi Hell 
 I feel is Lord of all 
 lesser lords of doom 
 Love is and was my L. 
 my King and L. 
 
 LOSE {verb) 
 
 which thou hast lost 
 
 I shall not /. thee 
 
 LOSS 
 
 in /. a gain to match 
 to be drunk with /. 
 L. is common 
 That /. is common 
 a /. for ever new 
 ere our fatal /. 
 To breathe my /. 
 
 LOT 
 
 where our lots are cast 
 Bewail'd their /. 
 
 LOVE 
 
 immortal L. 
 Let L. clasp grief 
 long result of /. 
 waitest for thy /. 
 
152 
 
 Index. 
 
 LOVE {^continued) 
 
 LOVE {verb) 
 
 9- 
 
 3- 
 
 our pure /. 
 
 27- 
 
 4- 
 
 to have loved and k st 
 
 25- 
 
 2. 
 
 needed help of L. 
 
 42. 
 
 3- 
 
 loves but knows not 
 
 25. 
 
 3- 
 
 mighty L . would cleave 
 
 52- 
 
 I. 
 
 I cannot /. thee as I 
 
 32. 
 
 2. 
 
 one deep /. 
 
 
 
 ought 
 
 32. 
 
 4- 
 
 loves in higher /. en- 
 
 85- 
 
 I. 
 
 to have loved and lost 
 
 
 
 dure 
 
 85. 
 
 1. 
 
 never to have loved 
 
 35- 
 
 2. 
 
 for one hour, O L. 
 
 89. 
 
 10. 
 
 he loved to rail 
 
 33- 
 
 4- 
 
 L. would answer 
 
 97- 
 
 5- 
 
 He loves her yet 
 
 35- 
 
 S- 
 
 L. had not been 
 
 97- 
 
 7- 
 
 she loves him more 
 
 37- 
 
 4- 
 
 human /. his dues 
 
 no. 
 
 4- 
 
 And loved them more 
 
 43- 
 
 4- 
 
 /. will last 
 
 129. 
 
 
 loved the most 
 
 46. 
 
 4- 
 
 Z., thy province 
 
 129. 
 
 3- 
 
 to be Z£>z/^^deeplier 
 
 47- 
 
 3- 
 
 L. on earth 
 
 130. 
 
 2. 
 
 therefore /. thee less 
 
 SI- 
 S'- 
 52- 
 
 2. 
 
 I be lessen'd in his /. 
 
 
 
 
 3- 
 
 Shall I. be blamed 
 /. reflects the thing 
 
 102. 
 
 3- 
 
 LOVE-LANGUAGH 
 
 low /. of the bird 
 
 52- 
 
 2. 
 
 Spirit of true /. 
 
 
 
 LOVELINESS 
 
 59- 
 62. 
 
 3- 
 I. 
 
 creature of my /. 
 my /. an idle tale 
 
 36. 
 
 3. 
 
 In I. of perfect deeds 
 
 65. 
 
 I. 
 
 Love''?, too precious 
 
 
 
 LOVER 
 
 77- 
 
 4- 
 
 /. more sweet than 
 
 8. 
 
 I. 
 
 A happy /. 
 
 It. 
 
 I. 
 
 praise 
 the costliest I. in fee 
 
 
 
 LOWER {adj.) 
 a /. and a higher 
 
 I. 
 
 My /. shall now no fur- 
 
 129. 
 
 I. 
 
 
 
 ther range 
 
 
 
 LOWING 
 
 81. 
 
 I. 
 
 now is /. mature in 
 
 99- 
 
 I. 
 
 loavmgs of the herds 
 
 81. 
 
 2. 
 
 ear 
 L. then had hope 
 
 
 
 LOWNESS 
 
 84- 
 
 10. 
 
 link'd with thine in /. 
 
 24- 
 
 3- 
 
 /. of the present state 
 
 85- 
 
 3- 
 
 whether /. for him 
 
 
 LOYAL-HEARTED {adj.) 
 
 85- 
 ^5- 
 
 ,1: 
 
 My capabilities of /. 
 I woo your /. 
 
 no. 
 
 2. 
 
 On thee the /. hung 
 
 85. 
 
 25. 
 
 /. with I. 
 
 
 
 LYRE 
 
 85. 
 
 26. 
 
 with /. as true 
 
 96. 
 
 2. 
 
 touch 'd a jarring /. 
 
 f-s- 
 
 27. 
 
 First I. first friendship 
 
 
 
 
 85- 
 
 29. 
 
 rest Quite in the /. 
 
 
 
 M. 
 
 c,o. 
 
 
 He tasted /. 
 
 
 
 95- 
 
 7- 
 
 love''s dumb cry 
 My /. has tall-.'d 
 
 
 
 MAIDEN 
 
 97- 
 
 
 40. 
 
 I_ 
 
 As on a ni. in the day 
 
 97- 
 
 4- 
 
 /. has never past away 
 
 77- 
 
 2. 
 
 to curl a maide7i^s locks 
 
 102. 
 
 2. 
 
 spirits of a diverse /. 
 
 103. 
 
 2. 
 
 maidens with me 
 
 106. 
 
 6. 
 
 the /. of truth and right 
 
 103. 
 
 7- 
 
 maidens gathered 
 
 106. 
 
 6. 
 
 the common /. of good 
 
 
 
 strength 
 
 110. 
 
 5- 
 
 the /. that will not tire 
 
 103. 
 
 12. 
 
 viaidens v.'ith one mind 
 
 112. 
 
 2. 
 
 room Of all my /. 
 
 Ep. 
 
 17- 
 
 maidens of the place 
 
 114. 
 118. 
 
 3- 
 I. 
 
 cut from /. and faith 
 human I. and truth 
 
 
 
 MAIDENHOOD 
 
 perpetual w. 
 
 125. 
 
 2. 
 
 or L. but play'd 
 
 6. 
 
 II. 
 
 126. 
 
 I. 
 
 L. is and was my Lord 
 
 
 
 MAIN 
 
 12^. 
 128. 
 
 2. 
 I. 
 
 L. is and was my King 
 /. that rose 
 
 II. 
 
 3- 
 
 the bounding w. 
 
 130. 
 
 3. 
 
 I. involves the /. be- 
 
 
 
 MAKE {verb) 
 
 
 
 fore 
 
 Pro. 
 
 3- 
 
 Thou hast made him 
 
 130. 
 
 3- 
 
 My /. is vaster passion 
 
 42. 
 
 
 that made me dream 
 
 Ep. 
 
 3- 
 
 yet is /. not less 
 
 62. 
 
 I. 
 
 could m. thee some- 
 
 Ep. 
 
 5- 
 
 but /. is more 
 
 
 
 what blench 
 
Index. 
 
 153 
 
 MAKE {verb) {continued) 
 68. 3. Which makes me sad 
 102. 4. tnade them trebly dear 
 
 Pro. 2. 
 Pro. 3- 
 Pro. 9. 
 
 10. 
 
 2. 
 
 13- 
 
 3 
 
 14- 
 
 3 
 
 16. 
 
 5 
 
 21. 
 
 2 
 
 22. 
 
 3- 
 
 35- 
 
 I. 
 
 43- 
 
 3- 
 
 43- 
 
 I. 
 
 45- 
 
 4 
 
 48. 
 
 
 50. 
 
 3- 
 
 56. 
 
 3. 
 
 61. 
 
 3- 
 
 64. 
 
 I. 
 
 71- 
 
 3- 
 
 74- 
 
 I. 
 
 77- 
 
 3- 
 
 84. 
 
 7 
 
 85- 
 
 15- 
 
 89. 
 
 95. 9. 
 
 98. 5- 
 
 99. I. 
 103. II. 
 103. II. 
 106. 8. 
 109. 2. 
 no. I. 
 
 114. I 
 
 118. 3. 
 
 M.\N 
 
 Thou madest life in m. 
 
 Thou madest m. 
 
 lives from ;«. to in. 
 
 men may rise on step- 
 ping-stones 
 
 ;«. that loved and lost 
 
 the little lives of men 
 
 travell'd meft 
 
 human-hearted m.. 
 
 The ;«. I held as half- 
 divine 
 
 that delirious m. 
 
 waxen hearts of men 
 
 the Shadow/ fear'd of m. 
 
 voice that m. could 
 trust 
 
 nothing lost to ;;;. 
 
 the in. is more and more 
 
 had m. to learn himself 
 
 such as men might scorn 
 
 inen the flies of latter 
 spring 
 
 A sober m. among his 
 boys 
 
 grain by which a ni. 
 may live 
 
 M. her last work 
 
 first form was made a m. 
 
 some divinely gifted m. 
 
 Of 7nen and minds 
 
 in a diad fnan''s face 
 
 A m. upon a stall shall 
 find 
 
 The lips of men 
 
 mighty hopes that made 
 U5 men 
 
 picturesque of jn. and 
 m. 
 
 m. whose thought 
 would hold 
 
 The daad m. touched 
 me from the past 
 
 at the heels of men 
 
 the flower of men 
 
 Th^ m. we loved 
 
 thrice as large as m. 
 
 Ring in the valiant m. 
 
 the doubts of m. 
 
 men of rathe and riper 
 years 
 
 May she mix With men 
 
 at the last arose the m. 
 
 MAN {coiitintied) 
 
 120. 3. Let him, the wiser tn. 
 
 124. 4. like a ;«. in wrath 
 
 124. 6. no 7n. understands 
 
 124. 6. moulding men 
 
 Ep. 32. Result in vi. 
 
 Ep. 35. m. that with me trod 
 
 MANHOOD 
 
 Pro. 4. The highest, holiest m. 
 
 36. I. Tho' truths in ;«. dark- 
 
 ly join 
 53. I. Who wears his m. 
 109. 5. m. fused with female 
 grace 
 
 MANNER 
 
 106. 4. sweeter jnanuers 
 III. 4. To noh\& vtanners 
 
 MANTLE 
 
 22. 4, spread his tn. dark and 
 cold 
 
 MAPLE 
 
 loi. I. This m. burn itself away 
 
 MARBLE 
 
 67. 2. Thy ;«. bright in dark 
 
 MARCH 
 
 gi. I. the sea blue bird of M. 
 
 MARGE 
 
 12. 3. weeping on the in. 
 46. 2. m. to m. shall bloom 
 46. 4. warmth from ;«. to tn. 
 
 MARK 
 
 53. 4. push beyond her m. 
 87. 8. he Would cleave the ;«. 
 
 MARRIAGE-LAY 
 
 Ep. I. Demand not thou a m. 
 
 MARY 
 
 31. I. home to Mary's house 
 
 MASK 
 
 18. 3. wears the 7n. of sleep 
 70. I. hollow masks of night 
 105. 3. m. and mime 
 
 MAST 
 
 9. 2. Ruffle thy mirror'd m. 
 
 MASTER 
 
 20. I . Where lies the w. 
 
 37. 6. in the master^s field 
 
 MASTER-BOWMAN 
 
 87. 8. And last the m. 
 
54 
 
 Index. 
 
 41- 5- 
 
 64. 6. 
 
 62. 3- 
 
 97- 
 97- 
 
 115. I. 
 
 103. 6. 
 
 99. 2. 
 
 119. I. 
 
 55- 3- 
 
 48. 3- 
 
 75. I. 
 
 8. 3- 
 
 23. 5- 
 
 24. 2. 
 
 85. 25. 
 
 38. 2. 
 
 37- 3- 
 
 45- 3- 
 
 90. 3. 
 
 92. 2. 
 
 94- 3- 
 
 95. 12. 
 
 99. 4. 
 
 100. I. 
 
 loi. 6. 
 
 104. 3. 
 
 III. 3. 
 
 Ep. 20. 
 
 MASTERDOM 
 
 Contend for loving ni. 
 
 MATE 
 
 be thy in. no more 
 that was his earliest in. 
 
 MATTER 
 
 m. for a flying smile 
 matters dark and deep 
 matters of the house 
 
 MAY 
 
 from M. to M. 
 With fifty Mays 
 
 MAZE 
 
 every ;«. of quick 
 
 MEAD 
 
 many a level ;«. 
 
 MEADOW 
 
 meadows breathing of 
 
 the past 
 the in. in the street 
 
 MEANING 
 
 secret in. in her deeds 
 
 MEASURE 
 
 m. from the chords 
 the in. of my grief 
 
 MEET (verb) 
 we two were wont to m. 
 all we met was fair 
 good and fair we met 
 
 MEETING 
 
 prove A m. somewhere 
 
 MELODY 
 
 melodies of spring 
 
 MELPOMENE 
 
 my M. replies 
 
 MEMORY 
 
 clear m. may begin 
 memories half divine 
 I hear a wind Of m. 
 m. like a cloudless air 
 to reach Thro' m. 
 Memories of bridal 
 m. of my friend 
 year by year our m. 
 where not a m. strays 
 thousand memories ca[\ 
 my drooping M. 
 
 MERCHANT 
 
 merchant's bales 
 
 Pro. 
 
 64. 
 
 12. 
 
 85- 
 
 87. 
 
 41. 
 
 loS. 
 
 Pro. 
 3- 
 
 129. 
 106. 
 
 85. 
 113- 
 128. 
 
 28. 
 67. 
 104. 
 
 123- 
 
 MERIT 
 
 in. lives from man to 
 
 man 
 by force his in. known 
 
 MESSAGE 
 
 dolorous in. knit below 
 this in. falls 
 
 ;iCHAEL ANGELO 
 
 The bar of M. 
 
 MIGHT 
 
 wing my will with m. 
 yearning, tho' with in. 
 
 MILK 
 
 m. that bubbled 
 
 MILL 
 
 yonder social in. 
 
 MIND 
 
 m. and soul according 
 threshold of the m. 
 nerves without a in. 
 forms the firmer in. 
 the fulness from the m. 
 thought her m. admits 
 with an upward in. 
 the in. and will 
 to a separate m. 
 to wed an equal m. 
 a desert in the in. 
 a long-forgotten m. 
 forms in either in. 
 comforting the m. 
 in. and art and labor 
 growth of noble m. 
 she is earthly of the tn. 
 MINE (pronowi) 
 M.i in. forever, ever in. 
 
 MINSTREL 
 
 ring the fuller in. in 
 
 MINT 
 
 nature's in. 
 
 MISS {verb) 
 that miss'^d her most 
 
 MISSION 
 
 Her lavish m. 
 
 A soul on highest m. 
 
 If this weve all your w. 
 
 MIST 
 
 each other in the m. 
 I know the m. is drawn 
 folded in the in. 
 They melt like in. 
 
Index. 
 
 155 
 
 59- I. 
 
 35- 3- 
 
 Pro. 8, 
 
 120. I. 
 
 106. 4. 
 
 76. I. 
 
 56. 6. 
 
 MISTRESS 
 
 No casual m. 
 
 MOANING 
 
 moajtings of the home- 
 less sea 
 
 MOCK {verb) 
 We 7n. thee 
 
 MOCKERY 
 
 Magnetic fnockeries 
 
 MODE 
 
 the nobler modes 
 
 MOMENT 
 
 in a ;«. set thy face 
 
 MONSTER 
 
 A ;«. then, a dream 
 
 
 
 MONTH 
 
 8S- 
 92. 
 
 17- 
 3- 
 
 all-assuming months 
 tho' the months 
 
 MOOD 
 
 20. 
 
 27- 
 
 35- 
 
 48. 
 
 3. 
 I. 
 6. 
 2. 
 2. 
 8. 
 
 My lighter moods 
 envy not in any moods 
 sluggish moods 
 harsher moods remit 
 harsher moods aside 
 in livelier moods 
 
 MOON 
 
 21. 
 
 26. 
 28. 
 
 5- 
 I. 
 I. 
 
 secret from the latest ;«. 
 No lapse of moo>is 
 The ;«. is hid 
 
 77- 
 
 2. 
 
 moons shall wane 
 
 83. 
 89. 
 
 2. 
 
 7- 
 
 the summer moons 
 to the brightening m. 
 
 lOI. 
 
 104. 
 Ep. 
 Ep. 
 
 4- 
 I. 
 
 7- 
 28. 
 
 The sailing w. 
 The w. is hid 
 glowing like the ;«. 
 rise, ;«. 
 
 MOONLIGHT 
 
 67. 
 67. 
 
 I. 
 
 3- 
 
 on my bed the tn. falls 
 off my bed the w. dies 
 
 84. 8. 
 Ep. 15. 
 
 MORASS 
 
 m. and whispering reed 
 MORN 
 
 Calm is the m. 
 
 Rise, happy tn. rise 
 
 holy jn. 
 promise of a m. as fair 
 symbols of a joyful 711. 
 
 MORNING 
 
 4. with ?«. wakes the will 
 2. Never /«. wore 
 
 2. creep At earliest m. 
 
 MOSS 
 
 II. lying couch'd in m. 
 
 MOTH 
 
 3. m. with vain desire 
 
 MOTHER 
 
 4. O ;«. praying 
 
 5. Dear as the m. 
 
 3. on the mother^s face 
 
 4. mothers of the flock 
 
 MOTION 
 
 3. all thy motions 
 
 4. muffled tnotions 
 
 3. vaster motions 
 
 9. kindliest >«. warm 
 2. In all her ;«. 
 
 MOULDERING 
 
 2. the ;«. of a yew 
 
 MOUNTAIN-GROUND 
 
 1. misty m. 
 MOVE {verb) 
 
 4. jHoving- up from high 
 
 MURMUR 
 
 4. dull'd the ;^2. on thy lip 
 
 3. m. of a happy Pan 
 
 2. A single ;; 
 
 breast 
 
 MURMUR {verb) 
 
 6. I murmur'd, as I came 
 
 the 
 
 
 
 MUSE 
 
 37- 
 
 4- 
 
 an earthly M. 
 
 58. 
 
 3- 
 
 The high M. answer'd 
 
 85. 
 
 12. 
 
 all the Muses deck'd 
 
 109. 
 
 I. 
 
 all the imeses'' walk 
 MUSE {verb) 
 
 6. 
 
 5- 
 
 tmised on all I had 
 
 116. 
 
 3- 
 
 while I ;«. alone 
 
 MUSIC 
 
 Pro. 
 
 7- 
 
 make one m. as before 
 
 3. 
 
 3. 
 
 all the m. in her tone 
 
 56. 
 
 6. 
 
 Were mellow m. 
 
 70. 
 
 4- 
 
 a wizard ;«. 
 
 77- 
 
 4- 
 
 Shall ring with m. 
 
 87. 
 
 9- 
 
 m. in the bounds of law 
 
 95- 
 
 II. 
 
 .Ionian m. 
 
156 
 
 Index. 
 
 MUSIC {continued) 
 
 96. 3. 
 103. 14. 
 Ep. I. 
 
 37- 
 128. 
 
 36. 
 59- 
 65. 
 67. 
 87. 
 Ep. 
 
 he beat his m. out 
 A m. out of sheet 
 ;«. more than any song 
 
 MYRIAD 
 
 unto myriads more 
 
 MYSTERY 
 
 thy prevailing mysteries 
 O ye viysteries of good 
 
 N. 
 
 NAME 
 
 Among familiar names 
 all blessing to the n. 
 tell what n. were thine 
 the flames of friends 
 the letters of thy n. 
 n. was on the door 
 sign your names 
 
 3- 
 
 3- 
 
 5- 
 
 I 
 
 41. 
 
 4 
 
 54- 
 
 I 
 
 56. 
 
 4 
 
 69. 
 
 I 
 
 72. 
 
 5 
 
 73- 
 
 2 
 
 79- 
 
 2 
 
 83. 
 
 I 
 
 85. 
 
 22 
 
 109. 
 
 3 
 
 NARCOTIC 
 
 dull narcotics 
 
 NARROWNESS 
 
 Nor ever n. or spite 
 
 NATURE 
 
 all the phantom, N. 
 like N. , half reveal 
 tho' my 71. rarely yields 
 pangs of n. 
 Tho' N. , red in tooth 
 Natjire'^s ancient power 
 cancell'd 7iat7ire's best 
 I curse not «. 
 like in nature's mint 
 expectant n. wrong 
 Can clouds of «. stain 
 n. amorous of the good 
 _. let his coltish «. break 
 I. dying Nature'' s earth 
 6. hands That reach thro' 
 
 130. 3- 
 Ep. 33- 
 
 76. 
 
 mix'd with God and N. 
 N. like an open book 
 
 NEARNESS 
 
 Desire of n. 
 
 NECK 
 
 fell in silence on his n. 
 
 NEED 
 
 what had «. of thee 
 
 NEEDLE 
 
 to a needle's end 
 
 24. 
 28. 
 29. 
 60. 
 66. 
 70. 
 72. 
 91- 
 95. 
 95- 
 
 lOJ. 
 
 104. 
 105. 
 107. 
 121. 
 126. 
 
 Ep. 
 
 21. 
 21. 
 
 125. 
 
 56. 
 
 29- 
 
 Ep. 
 
 NEIGHBOR 
 
 3. the fieighbors met 
 
 4. The foolish 7ieighbors 
 
 NERVE 
 
 2. A weight of nerves 
 
 1. and the tierves prick 
 
 2. all the 71. of sense 
 
 NEW-YEAR 
 
 I. O sweet n. 
 4. O thou n. 
 
 wandering isles of n. 
 the 71. is still 
 threshold of the n. 
 At 71. she weeps 
 His 71. of loss 
 hollow masks of «. 
 issuing out of w. 
 watches of the «. 
 By n. we linger'd 
 from me and n. 
 On that last n. 
 the n. IS still 
 the n. I loved 
 leaving «. forlorn 
 fresher for the n. 
 In the deep «. 
 
 NOISE 
 
 I. full of foolish n. 
 5. all within was n. 
 
 NOON 
 
 Climb thy thick n. 
 the clouded noons 
 At n. or when the 
 
 ser wain 
 the 71. is near 
 
 76. 
 
 NOTE 
 
 7. her n. is gay 
 
 7. her 71. is changed 
 
 I. some bitter notes 
 
 NOTHING 
 
 I. I care for n. 
 NURSE 
 
 4. Gray nurses 
 12. on her nurse's arm 
 
 O. 
 
 OAK 
 
 3. lifetime of an o. 
 
Index. 
 
 157 
 
 
 
 OAK 
 
 
 
 OUTLINE 
 
 87. 
 
 3. 
 
 pulse of racing oars 
 
 OAT 
 
 s- 
 
 3- 
 
 given in 0. and no more 
 
 OVERTHROWING 
 
 S3- 
 
 2. 
 
 the wild 0. 
 
 "3- 
 
 5- 
 
 With overthrowings 
 
 
 
 OCEAN 
 
 
 OVERWEAR {verb) 
 
 Ep. 
 
 SI- 
 
 and 0. sounds 
 
 OCEAN-MIRRORS 
 
 '• 
 
 4- 
 
 all he was is overworn 
 
 12. 
 
 S' 
 
 o'er 0. rounded large 
 
 OCEAN-PLAINS 
 
 
 
 P. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 9- 
 
 I. 
 
 Sailest the placid 0. 
 ODOR 
 
 77- 
 
 3- 
 
 the /. that tells A grief 
 
 PAIN 
 
 86. 
 
 4- 
 
 leagues of 0. 
 
 14. 
 
 4- 
 
 tell him all my /. 
 
 17- 
 
 5- 
 
 OFFICE 
 
 So kind an 0. 
 
 Her 0. there to rear 
 
 18. 
 21. 
 25. 
 
 5- 
 3- 
 3. 
 
 endures with/, 
 parade of /. _ 
 lading of a single /. 
 slept and woke with/. 
 
 40. 
 
 4- 
 
 28. 
 
 4. 
 
 40. 
 
 5- 
 
 In such great offices 
 
 63. 
 77. 
 78. 
 
 2. 
 
 set their /«mj at ease 
 
 II I. 
 
 4- 
 
 0. of the social hour 
 
 2. 
 
 mortal lullabies of /. 
 
 128. 
 
 3- 
 
 If all your 0. 
 
 4- 
 
 no mark of /. 
 
 
 
 OLD {adj.) 
 
 85- 
 
 22. 
 
 sympathy with/. 
 
 106. 
 
 2. 
 
 Ring out the 0. 
 
 
 
 PALE 
 
 
 
 OLIVET 
 
 III. 
 
 2. 
 
 thro' the gilded/. 
 
 31- 
 
 3- 
 
 purple brows of 0. 
 
 
 
 PALLAS 
 
 
 
 ONE 
 
 114. 
 
 3- 
 
 some wild P. 
 
 Pro. 
 
 8. 
 
 help Thy foolish 07ies 
 
 
 
 PALM {hand) 
 
 21. 
 21. 
 
 7- 
 7- 
 
 And 0. is glad 
 And 0. is sad 
 
 45- 
 
 I. 
 
 his tender /. is prest 
 
 37- 
 
 5- 
 
 brooding on the dear 0. 
 
 
 
 PALM {tree) 
 
 
 
 OPIATE 
 
 Ep. 
 
 8. 
 
 palms of paradise 
 
 71- 
 
 2. 
 
 0. trebly strong 
 
 
 
 PAN 
 
 
 
 ORANGE-FLOWER 
 
 23- 
 
 3- 
 
 murmur of a happy P. 
 
 40. 
 
 I. 
 
 she wears her 0. 
 
 
 
 PANE 
 
 
 
 ORATION 
 
 72. 
 
 I. 
 
 the streaming/. 
 
 87. 
 
 8. 
 
 The rapt 0. 
 
 ORB 
 
 87. 
 
 2. 
 
 blazon'd on the paties 
 
 PANG 
 
 Pro. 
 
 2. 
 
 orbs of light and shade 
 
 50- 
 
 2. 
 
 pangs that conquer trust 
 
 30. 
 
 7- 
 
 From 0. to ^. 
 
 54- 
 
 I. 
 
 pangs of nature 
 
 34- 
 
 2. 
 
 this 0. of flame 
 
 
 
 PARADE 
 
 
 
 ORBIT 
 
 21. 
 
 3. 
 
 /. of pain 
 
 87. 
 
 ID. 
 
 orbits heavenly-wise 
 
 
 
 PARADISE 
 
 
 
 ORCHIS 
 
 Ep. 
 
 8. 
 
 the palms of p. 
 
 83. 
 
 3- 
 
 Bring 0. 
 
 
 
 PARDON 
 
 
 
 ORE 
 
 8s. 
 
 25- 
 
 I crave your/. 
 
 118. 
 
 5- 
 
 life is not as idle 0. 
 
 
 
 PARK 
 
 
 
 ORGAN 
 
 98. 
 
 6. 
 
 By/, and suburb 
 
 87. 
 
 2. 
 
 their high-built orga^is 
 OTHER {adj.) 
 
 Ep. 
 
 24. 
 
 to roam the /. 
 
 PARLIAMENT 
 
 8. 
 
 4- 
 
 as that 0. wandering 
 
 "S- 
 
 3- 
 
 a potent voice of P. 
 
58 
 
 Index, 
 
 
 
 PARNASSUS 
 
 
 
 PAUL 
 
 yi- 
 
 2. 
 
 On thy P. set thy feet 
 
 PART 
 
 120. 
 
 '• 
 
 Like P. with beasts 
 
 PEACE 
 
 65. 
 
 3 
 
 p. of mine may live 
 
 28. 
 
 3- 
 
 P. and goodwill 
 
 85- 
 
 17- 
 
 Can take no/, away 
 
 29. 
 
 I. 
 
 household/. 
 
 128. 
 
 6. 
 
 I see in p. 
 
 34. 
 
 4- 
 
 to sink to /. 
 
 
 
 
 46. 
 
 3- 
 
 in a wealthy /. 
 
 
 
 PART {verb) 
 
 58. 
 
 2. 
 
 idly broke the /. 
 
 25- 
 
 3- 
 
 p. it, giving half to him 
 
 80. 
 
 2. 
 
 but stay'd in/. 
 
 Ep. 
 
 12. 
 
 At last must/, with her 
 
 90. 
 
 5- 
 
 pillars of domestic/. 
 
 
 
 PARTAKER 
 
 106. 
 
 7- 
 
 thousand years of /. 
 
 41. 
 
 2. 
 
 /. of thy change 
 
 
 
 PEAL 
 
 
 
 
 104. 
 
 2. 
 
 A single/, of bells 
 
 
 
 PARTING 
 
 
 
 PEAR 
 
 97- 
 
 3 
 
 every p. was to die 
 
 PARTNER 
 
 89. 
 
 5- 
 
 the mellowing /mrj 
 
 84. 
 97. 
 
 6 
 2. 
 
 /. in the flowery walk 
 partners of a married 
 life 
 
 44. 
 
 3- 
 
 PEER 
 
 ranging with thy peers 
 
 PEOPLE 
 
 
 
 PASSENGER 
 
 I, 
 
 4- 
 
 the/, throng 
 
 14. 
 
 2 
 
 thy passengers in rank 
 
 PASSION 
 
 64. 
 97- 
 
 4- 
 4- 
 
 pillar of a people'' s hope 
 the faithless/, say 
 
 PERFECTNESS 
 
 59- 
 62. 
 
 3 
 3 
 
 My centred/, 
 other/, wholly dies 
 
 112. 
 
 I- 
 
 narrower/. 
 
 85. 
 
 13 
 
 my /. has not swerved 
 
 
 
 PERFUME 
 
 85- 
 
 19 
 
 my prime/, in the grave 
 
 95- 
 
 14. 
 
 the still /. 
 
 88. 
 
 
 the passio7is meet 
 /. clasps a secret joy 
 /. pure in snowy bloom 
 
 
 
 PHANTOM 
 
 88. 
 109. 
 
 2 
 3 
 
 3- 
 20. 
 
 3- 
 4- 
 
 the /. nature 
 noiseless phantoms 
 
 
 
 PAST 
 
 108. 
 
 3- 
 
 mine own/). 
 
 24. 
 
 3 
 
 That sets the /. 
 . the /. will always win 
 
 
 PHANTOM-WARNING 
 
 24. 
 
 4 
 
 
 
 
 43- 
 
 2 
 
 silent traces of the /. 
 
 92. 
 
 3- 
 
 prove the /. true 
 
 46. 
 
 2 
 
 landscape of the /. 
 
 
 
 PHASE 
 
 62. 
 
 I 
 
 . fading legend of the /. 
 
 65. 
 
 2. 
 
 painful phases 
 
 71- 
 
 J 
 
 Present of the P. 
 
 
 105. 
 
 4 
 
 hold it solemn to the/. 
 
 
 
 PHILOSOPHY 
 
 
 
 PASTIME 
 
 23- 
 
 53. 
 
 6. 
 4. 
 
 many an old/, 
 divine P. 
 
 30- 
 
 2 
 
 At our old pastbnes 
 
 
 
 PHOSPHOR 
 
 22. 
 
 I 
 
 PATH 
 
 /. by which we twain 
 
 9- 
 121. 
 
 3- 
 3. 
 
 till P. bright 
 Bright P. 
 
 22. 
 
 3 
 
 where the /. we walk'd 
 paths are in the fields 
 
 
 
 40. 
 
 8 
 
 
 
 PICTURE 
 
 68. 
 
 2 
 
 /. was fresh with dew 
 
 78. 
 
 3- 
 
 mimic picture'^s 
 
 73- 
 
 3 
 
 /. that each man trod 
 
 80. 
 
 3- 
 
 p. in the brain 
 
 84. 
 
 8 
 
 paths of growing pow- 
 
 
 
 PILE 
 
 
 
 ers 
 
 54- 
 
 2. 
 
 made the /. complete 
 
 23. 
 
 2 
 
 PATHWAY 
 
 where the /. leads 
 
 64. 
 
 4- 
 
 PILLAR 
 
 /. of a people's hope 
 
 
 
 PATIENCE 
 
 90. 
 
 5- 
 
 pillars of domestic 
 
 34- 
 
 3 
 
 A little /. ere I die 
 
 
 
 peace 
 
Index. 
 
 159 
 
 
 PILLAR {continued) 
 
 
 
 PLUMELET 
 
 113- 
 
 3- 
 
 /. steadfast 
 
 91. 
 
 I. 
 
 rosy plnmelets 
 
 114. 
 
 1. 
 
 shall fix Her /z7/^rj 
 
 
 
 POESY 
 
 
 
 PIPE 
 
 8. 
 
 5- 
 
 poor flower of /. 
 
 21. 
 
 I. 
 
 pipes whereon to blow 
 
 
 
 POET 
 
 
 
 PIPING 
 
 34. 
 
 2. 
 
 some wild P. 
 
 21. 
 
 3- 
 
 with his/, he may gain 
 
 PITY 
 
 89. 
 
 6. 
 
 Tuscan poets 
 
 63- 
 
 I. 
 
 /. for a horse 
 
 PLACE 
 
 87. 
 
 9- 
 
 POINT 
 
 From/, to/. 
 
 3- 
 8. 
 
 2. 
 2. 
 
 waste places 
 all the /. is dark 
 
 99. 
 
 S- 
 
 POLE 
 
 slumber of the poles 
 
 13- 
 
 I. 
 
 Her/, is empty 
 
 
 
 POOL 
 
 18. 
 
 2. 
 
 places of his youth 
 
 49. 
 
 I. 
 
 dappled pools 
 
 42. 
 44. 
 67. 
 
 2. 
 
 4- 
 I. 
 
 P. retain us still 
 In that high/, 
 thy/, of rest 
 
 72. 
 
 1. 
 
 POPLAR 
 
 blow the /. white 
 
 83- 
 
 2. 
 
 from its proper/. 
 
 
 
 PORCH 
 
 85. 
 
 28. 
 
 within a lonely/. 
 
 Ep. 
 
 17- 
 
 pelt us in the/. 
 They leave the /. 
 
 100. 
 
 I. 
 
 I find no/. 
 
 Ep. 
 
 18. 
 
 102. 
 
 j_ 
 
 well-beloved/. 
 
 
 
 
 105. 
 
 3- 
 
 change of /. 
 
 
 
 PORT 
 
 lying in the /. 
 
 106. 
 
 6. 
 
 false pride in /. 
 
 14. 
 
 I. 
 
 108. 
 
 3- 
 
 in the highest/. 
 
 
 
 PORTAL 
 
 114. 
 
 4- 
 
 Let her know her /. 
 my proper /. 
 
 29. 
 
 3- 
 
 portals of the house 
 
 117. 
 
 I. 
 
 
 
 
 iiS. 
 
 4- 
 
 in higher/. 
 
 
 
 POWER 
 
 121. 
 
 5- 
 
 Thy/, is changed 
 
 16. 
 
 4. 
 
 my/, to think 
 
 126. 
 
 3- 
 
 from/, to/. 
 
 26. 
 
 2. 
 
 hath /. to see 
 
 
 
 PLAIN 
 
 30- 
 
 7- 
 
 With gather'd /. 
 
 II. 
 
 3- 
 
 yon great/. 
 
 36. 
 
 2. 
 
 dealt with mortal /<7W 
 
 98. 
 
 lOI. 
 
 8. 
 3. 
 
 or open /. 
 
 babble down the/. 
 
 64. 
 
 5- 
 
 ers 
 his active powers 
 
 
 
 
 75- 
 
 2. 
 
 Hath/, to give thee 
 
 16. 
 
 5- 
 
 PLAN 
 
 mingles all without a/. 
 
 84. 
 
 8. 
 
 27- 
 
 growing poivers 
 equal poivers 
 
 
 
 PLANE 
 
 87. 
 
 9- 
 
 with /. and grace 
 
 15- 
 
 3- 
 
 /. of molten glass 
 
 96. 
 112. 
 
 3- 
 
 P. was with him 
 some novel p. 
 
 
 
 PLANET 
 
 114. 
 
 4- 
 
 race For/. 
 
 76. 
 
 3. 
 
 darkness of our/, 
 trod This /. 
 
 114. 
 
 7- 
 
 grewest not alone in/. 
 
 Ep. 
 
 35- 
 
 124. 
 
 128. 
 
 I. 
 
 5- 
 
 The P. in darkness 
 arbitrary p. 
 
 
 
 PLANK 
 
 130. 
 
 2. 
 
 some diffusive /. 
 
 14. 
 
 2. 
 
 lightly down the /. 
 PLAY i^verb) 
 
 Ep. 
 
 10. 
 
 full of /. 
 
 PRACTICE 
 
 97. 
 
 8. 
 
 For him she plays 
 PLEASE {verb) 
 
 75- 
 
 2. 
 
 /. howsoe'er expert 
 
 PRAISE 
 
 6. 
 
 8. 
 
 this will /. him best 
 
 21. 
 
 3- 
 
 /. that comes to con- 
 
 
 
 
 
 stancy 
 
 
 
 PLEASURE 
 
 75- 
 
 I. 
 
 praises unexpress'd 
 
 4- 
 
 3- 
 
 /. from thine early 
 
 75- 
 
 3- 
 
 a little dust of /. 
 
 
 
 years 
 
 77- 
 
 4- 
 
 more sweet than /. 
 
 71- 
 
 2. 
 
 my /. may be whole 
 
 84. 
 
 7- 
 
 with honest /. 
 
6o 
 
 Index. 
 
 
 
 PRATE {verb) 
 
 
 
 PROMISE 
 
 37. 
 
 I. 
 
 Thou pratest here 
 
 84. 
 
 8. 
 
 /. of a morn as fair 
 
 
 
 PRAYER 
 
 85- 
 
 27. 
 
 /. of the golden hours 
 
 17- 
 
 I. 
 
 /. Was as the whisper 
 
 
 
 PROPHECY 
 
 32. 
 
 4- 
 
 faithful prayers 
 
 PRESENCE 
 
 92. 
 
 4- 
 
 seem thy prophecies 
 
 PROPHET 
 
 103. 
 
 7- 
 
 /. lordlier than before 
 
 87. 
 
 2. 
 
 prophets blazon 'd 
 
 126. 
 
 I. 
 
 in his/. I attend 
 
 
 
 PROSPECT 
 
 
 
 PRESENT 
 
 38. 
 
 I. 
 
 My /. and horizon 
 
 71- 
 
 I. 
 
 night-long P. 
 
 
 
 gone 
 
 85. 
 
 14- 
 
 in the /. broke the blow 
 
 
 
 PROUD 
 
 121. 
 
 5- 
 
 my p. and my past 
 
 PRESENTIMENT 
 
 no. 
 
 2. 
 
 /. was half disarm'd 
 
 92. 
 
 4- 
 
 spiritual presejUiments 
 
 PRESSURE 
 
 46. 
 
 4- 
 
 PROVINCE 
 
 thy /. were not large 
 
 PROW 
 
 119. 
 
 3- 
 
 the p. of thine hand 
 
 9- 
 
 4- 
 
 before the /. 
 
 
 
 PRETENCE 
 
 12. 
 
 5- 
 
 play About the /. 
 
 30. 
 
 2. 
 
 vain /. Of gladness 
 
 
 
 PSALM 
 
 
 
 PREY 
 
 56. 
 
 3- 
 
 Who roll'd the A 
 
 118. 
 
 3- 
 
 /. of cyclic storms 
 
 
 
 PULSATION 
 
 
 
 PRIDE 
 
 12. 
 
 I. 
 
 wild /. of her wings 
 
 106. 
 
 6. 
 
 Ring out false /. 
 
 
 
 PULSE 
 
 110. 
 
 2. 
 
 half disarm'd of /. 
 
 85. 
 
 IS- 
 
 My pulses therefore 
 
 
 
 PRIEST 
 
 85- 
 
 19. 
 
 every/, of wind 
 /. of racing oars 
 pulses of a Titan's heart 
 
 37. 
 
 I- 
 
 many a purer/. 
 
 87. 
 103. 
 
 I. 
 
 
 
 PRIESTESS 
 
 125- 
 
 4- 
 
 A ihoMSznd. pulses 
 
 3- 
 
 I. 
 
 P. in the vaults of 
 Death. 
 
 PRIME 
 
 89. 
 
 3- 
 
 PURLIEU 
 
 dusty purlieus of the 
 law 
 
 43. 
 
 4- 
 
 spiritual p. 
 
 
 
 PURPOSE 
 
 116. 
 
 I. 
 
 the crescent p. 
 
 PRIMROSE 
 
 56. 
 
 3- 
 
 splendid /. in his eyes 
 
 85. 
 
 y^- 
 
 /. j'et is dear 
 
 
 
 Q- 
 
 8s. 
 
 30. 
 
 p. of the later year 
 
 
 
 QUARRY 
 
 
 
 PROCESS 
 
 100. 
 
 3- 
 
 q. trench'd along 
 
 82. 
 
 2. 
 
 Eternal p. moving on 
 
 
 
 QUAY 
 
 
 
 PROCURESS 
 
 14. 
 
 I. 
 
 went down unto the q. 
 
 S3. 
 
 4- 
 
 p. to the Lords of Hell 
 
 
 
 QUESTION 
 
 
 
 PROFIT 
 
 96. 
 
 2. 
 
 a subtle q. 
 
 82. 
 
 3- 
 
 bloom to /. otherwhere 
 
 124. 
 
 2. 
 
 questions men may try 
 
 108. 
 
 2. 
 
 What/, lies 
 
 
 
 QUICK 
 
 
 
 PROFIT {verb) 
 
 88. 
 
 I. 
 
 the budded q7iicks 
 
 35. 
 
 5- 
 
 What profits it to put 
 
 PROGRESS 
 
 "S- 
 
 I. 
 
 every maze of q. 
 
 QUIET 
 
 98. 
 
 6. 
 
 With statelier/. 
 
 10. 
 
 3- 
 
 Th=s look of q. 
 
Index. 
 
 i6] 
 
 9- 
 
 17- 
 
 42. 
 
 114- 
 
 74- 
 102. 
 
 128. 
 Ep. 
 
 93- 3- 
 
 60. 
 103. 
 
 103. 
 56.. 
 
 71- 
 
 40. 
 
 33- 
 61. 
 
 112. 
 
 124. 
 
 31- 
 
 52- 
 
 99. 
 
 106. 
 
 84. 
 100. 
 103. 
 
 R. 
 
 RACE [running) 
 my widow'd r. 
 . my widow'd r. 
 . outstript me in the r. 
 . in her onward r. 
 RACE (generation ) 
 . to some one of his r. 
 . one of stranger r. 
 . great r. which is to be 
 . herald of a higher r. 
 . races may degrade 
 . the crowning r. 
 
 RAGE 
 
 . void of noble r. 
 
 RAIN 
 
 ;. the drizzling r. 
 !. in emerald r. 
 
 RANGE 
 
 thy sightless r. 
 
 RANK 
 
 r. exceeds her own 
 ranks Of iris 
 the scale of ranks 
 RAPT {verb) 
 So r, I was 
 
 RAVINE 
 
 With r. 
 
 REACH 
 
 the river's wooded 
 
 REALM 
 
 realms of love 
 
 countest r. ripe 
 r. change replies 
 art r. why 
 reason'' s colder part 
 
 RECORD 
 
 lives no r. of reply 
 What r. ? 
 
 RED iadj^ 
 thro' thy darkling r 
 
 REDRESS 
 
 r. to all mankind 
 
 REED 
 
 What r. was that 
 whispering r. 
 golden r. 
 
 36. 
 
 108. 
 
 92. 
 
 78. 
 
 8. 
 
 29. 
 
 40. 
 
 78. 
 102. 
 115. 
 116. 
 116. 
 Ep. 
 Ep. 
 
 REEF 
 
 round the coral r. 
 
 REFLEX 
 
 r. of a human face 
 
 REFRACTION 
 
 r. of events 
 
 REGION 
 
 No wing of wind the r. 
 swept 
 
 REGRET 
 
 my deep r. 
 
 chains r. to his decease 
 
 light regrets 
 
 O lastr., r. can die 
 
 one pure image of r. 
 
 r. Becomes 
 
 r. for buried time 
 
 Not all r. 
 
 a dead r. 
 
 R. is dead 
 
 REJOICE [verb) 
 \ r. ; \ prosper 
 
 RELATION 
 
 Her deep relations 
 
 RELIC 
 
 precious relics 
 
 RELIEF 
 
 sets the past in this r. 
 so to bring r. 
 REPLY {verb) 
 but he Replying 
 
 REPORT 
 
 bring me this r. 
 
 REPROACH 
 
 Thro' light reproaches 
 REST {repose) 
 
 sway themselves in r. 
 
 want-begotten r. 
 
 surely r. is meet 
 
 thy place of r. 
 
 this hour of r. 
 REST {remainder) 
 , r. remaineth unreveal'd 
 
 perchance among the r. 
 
 RESULT 
 
 4. the long r. of love 
 4. the large results 
 force 
 
 Of 
 
l62 
 
 hidex. 
 
 
 RESULT {continiied) \ 
 
 
 
 RIVAL 
 
 85. 
 
 23- 
 
 that serene r. of all 
 
 102. 
 
 5- 
 
 rivals in a losing game 
 
 128. 
 
 3- 
 
 results that look like 
 
 
 
 RIVER 
 
 
 
 new 
 
 71- 
 
 4- 
 
 the river's wooded reach 
 
 
 
 RETURN [verb) 
 
 103. 
 
 2. 
 
 A r. sliding by the wall 
 
 40. 
 
 6. 
 
 often she herself r. 
 
 
 
 
 89. 
 
 12. 
 
 returning from afar 
 
 
 
 RIVULET 
 
 pastoral r. 
 
 
 
 REVEILL^E 
 
 100. 
 
 4- 
 
 68. 
 
 2. 
 
 R. to the breaking 
 
 
 
 ROAM {verb) 
 
 
 
 morn 
 
 17- 
 
 3- 
 
 wherever thou may'st r. 
 
 
 
 REVERENCE 
 
 
 
 ROBE 
 
 Pro. 
 
 7- 
 
 more of r. in us dwell 
 
 84. 
 
 9- 
 
 her earthly r. 
 
 ">!. 
 
 2. 
 
 such r. for his blame 
 
 
 
 
 84. 
 114. 
 
 8. 
 
 r. and the silver hair 
 
 
 
 ROCK 
 
 7- 
 
 In r. and in charity 
 
 RHINE 
 
 you will see the R. 
 
 97- 
 131- 
 
 I. 
 I. 
 
 talk'd with rocks 
 Rise in the spiritual r. 
 
 98. 
 
 I. 
 
 98. 
 
 8. 
 
 ROCKET 
 
 r. molten into flakes 
 
 
 
 RHYME 
 
 
 
 
 76. 
 106. 
 
 I. 
 
 5- 
 
 modern r. 
 
 my mournful rhymes 
 
 102. 
 
 I. 
 
 ROOF 
 
 The roofs, that heard 
 
 Ep. 
 
 6. 
 
 idle brawling rhymes 
 
 
 
 ROOK 
 
 
 
 RIB 
 
 15- 
 
 I. 
 
 rooks are blown 
 
 107. 
 
 3- 
 
 Its lea.less ribs 
 
 RIBAND 
 
 85. 
 
 18. 
 
 the noise of rooks 
 
 ROOM 
 
 6. 
 
 8. 
 
 takes a r. or a rose 
 
 87. 
 
 4- 
 
 rooms in which he 
 
 dwelt 
 finest all the r. 
 
 
 
 RICH 
 
 112. 
 
 2. 
 
 79- 
 
 5- 
 
 But he was r. 
 
 
 
 ROOT 
 
 
 
 RIDGE 
 
 2. 
 
 I. 
 
 roots are wrapt about 
 
 71- 
 
 4- 
 
 the mountain r. 
 
 RILL 
 
 115. 
 
 1. 
 
 by ashen roots 
 
 ROSE 
 
 37- 
 
 2. 
 
 beside thy native r. 
 
 72. 
 
 QI. 
 
 3- 
 3- 
 
 the r. Pull sideways 
 many roses sweet 
 
 Ep. 
 
 29. 
 
 the glancing rills 
 
 
 
 RING 
 
 95- 
 
 IS- 
 
 Tlie heavy-folded r. 
 
 87. 
 
 7- 
 
 pierce an outer r. 
 
 Ep. 
 
 9- 
 
 foretold the perfect r. 
 
 Ep. 
 
 14. 
 
 The r. is on 
 
 
 
 ROSE-CARNATION 
 
 
 
 RINGLET 
 
 lOI. 
 
 2. 
 
 many a r. feed 
 
 6. 
 
 9- 
 
 to set a r. right 
 
 
 
 ROUND 
 
 
 
 RIPENESS 
 
 34- 
 
 2. 
 
 This r. of green 
 
 81. 
 
 3- 
 
 gave all r. to the grain 
 
 RIPPLE 
 
 47- 
 
 '■ 
 
 Should mov'e his rounds 
 
 RUBBISH 
 
 49- 
 
 3- 
 
 seeming-wanton r. 
 RISE {verb) 
 
 54- 
 
 2. 
 
 cast as r. to the void 
 
 RUNLET 
 
 15- 
 
 5- 
 
 rises upward always 
 
 100. 
 
 4- 
 
 r. tinkling 
 
 41. 
 
 
 r. from high to higher 
 
 
 
 
 92. 
 
 4- 
 
 often rises ere the'y r. . 
 
 
 
 S. 
 
 Ep. 
 
 23- 
 
 They r., but linger 
 
 
 
 SADNESS 
 
 
 
 RITUAL 
 
 83. 
 
 2. 
 
 s. in the summer moons 
 
 18. 
 
 3- 
 
 the r. of the dead 
 
 96. 
 
 5- 
 
 s. fli".gs Her shadow 
 
Index. 
 
 163 
 
 12. 3. 
 
 13- 5- 
 15- 3- 
 
 37. 6. 
 
 117- 3- 
 
 35- 6. 
 
 32. 3- 
 
 SAIL 
 
 sails at distance rise 
 the approaching ja//j 
 every milky s. 
 
 SAILOR 
 
 the J. at the wheel 
 the s. to his wife 
 
 SANCTITY 
 
 darken'd sanctities 
 
 SAND 
 
 every grain of s, 
 
 SATYR-SHAPE 
 
 in his coarsest S. 
 
 SAVIOUR 
 
 the Saviour's feet 
 
 SAY i^verb) 
 " It will be hard " 
 
 they s. 
 perfect as I s. 
 Might I not J. 
 Could I have said 
 thou too canst s. 
 Whatever I have said 
 
 
 
 SCALE 
 
 III. 
 
 I. 
 
 Along the s. of ranks 
 
 SCHOOL 
 
 IIO. 
 
 3- 
 
 put himself to s. 
 
 SCIENCE 
 
 21. 
 120. 
 120. 
 
 5- 
 2. 
 2. 
 
 kS". reaches forth 
 Let 6". prove we are 
 What matters 3". 
 
 SCOFF 
 
 69. 
 
 3- 
 
 I met with scoffs 
 
 SCORN 
 
 26. 
 69. 
 96. 
 I2S. 
 
 4- 
 3- 
 
 6. 
 
 from my proper s. 
 I met with scorns 
 with no touch of j. 
 my J. might well 
 
 SCYTHE 
 
 89. 
 
 5- 
 
 The sweep of s. 
 
 SEA 
 
 17- 
 26. 
 
 I. 
 
 4- 
 
 3- 
 
 19. 
 
 over lonely seas 
 over Indian seas 
 homeless j. 
 to-night beside the s. 
 
 SEAMEW 
 
 115. 
 
 4- 
 
 Where now the s. pipes 
 
 2. 2. 
 22. 2. 
 
 38. 2. 
 [I3. I. 
 
 23. s- 
 
 97. 6. 
 
 55- 3- 
 90. I. 
 Ep. 34- 
 
 Pro. 4- 
 97. 6. 
 
 127. 2. 
 
 30. 2. 
 
 73- 2. 
 
 78. 2. 
 
 85. 10. 
 
 78. 3- 
 126. 3. 
 
 34- 4- 
 tio. 2. 
 
 SEASON 
 
 seasons bring the flow- 
 er 
 
 crown'd with all the s. 
 lent 
 
 the blowing s. 
 
 served the seasons 
 
 SEA-WATER 
 
 The salt s. 
 
 SECOND 
 
 She is the .r. 
 
 SECRET 
 
 Her J. from the latest 
 
 moon 
 the s. of the Spring 
 the 5. of the star 
 
 SEE {verb) 
 I s. thee what thou art 
 more than I can s. 
 what I J. I leave 
 I shall not 5. thee 
 sees himself in all he 
 
 sees 
 here we s. no more 
 
 SEED 
 
 of fifty seeds 
 This bitter s. 
 is but s. 
 
 SEEM {verb) 
 seemest human 
 He seems so near 
 
 SEINE 
 
 fool-fury of the S. 
 
 SELF 
 
 Of their dead selves 
 In her deep s. 
 
 SENSE 
 
 with an awful s. 
 blindfold s. of wrong 
 J. of something lost 
 the s. of human will 
 where the senses mix 
 Cry thro' the s. 
 
 SENTENCE 
 
 I hear the s. 
 
 SENTINEL 
 
 hear at times a s. 
 
 SERPENT 
 
 the charming s. 
 Nor cared the s. 
 
164 
 
 Index. 
 
 46. 2. 
 
 48. 2. 
 
 66. 2. 
 
 93. 2. 
 Ep. 24. 
 Ep. 26. 
 Ep. 30. 
 
 SERVANT 
 
 20. I. as servants in a house 
 
 SERVE {verb) 
 103. 12. We j^rz/^^ thee here 
 
 SERVICE 
 
 20. 2. Another 5. such as this 
 
 SET {verb) 
 59. 4. And J. thee forth 
 
 SETTING 
 
 130. I. in the s. thou art fair 
 
 SEVERN 
 
 19. I. Danube to the S. gave 
 19. 2. twice a day the 6". fills 
 
 SHADE 
 
 there no s. can last 
 
 slender j. of doubt 
 
 s. by which my life 
 
 No visual s. 
 
 A s. falls on us 
 
 J. of passing thought 
 
 with J. the bridal doors 
 
 SHADOW 
 
 s. of a lark 
 s. of a heaven 
 S. fear'd of man 
 S. sits and waits for me 
 6". cloak'd 
 S. waiting 
 mute 6". watching all 
 tender-pencil'd 5. play 
 found your shadows 
 His own vast j. 
 sadness flings Her s. 
 105. 4. petty shadows cast 
 
 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 61. 3. The soul of 6". 
 
 SHALLOP 
 
 103. 5. where a little s. lay 
 
 SHAME 
 
 37. 3. touch of s. 
 
 51. 2. some hidden j. 
 
 72. 7. hide thy 5. 
 
 109. 6. My s. is greater 
 
 SHAPE 
 
 70. 2. palled sluipes 
 
 95. 3. filmy shapes 
 
 103. 4. s. of him I loved 
 
 118. 7. To f. and use 
 
 76. 
 
 19. 
 
 35- 
 
 61. 
 
 70. 
 
 83. 
 
 84. 
 
 85- 
 
 87. 
 103. 
 124. 
 Ep. 
 
 SHEAF 
 
 that binds the s. 
 the ungarner'd s. 
 
 SHEEPWALK 
 
 s. up the windy wold 
 
 SHELF 
 
 a cragg}' s. 
 
 SHELL 
 
 shells of hollow towers 
 
 SHIP 
 
 Fair s. 
 A great j. 
 
 SHOAL 
 
 shoals of pucker'd faces 
 
 SHOCK 
 
 the s. so harshly given 
 diffused the .y. 
 the shocks of chance 
 With thousand shocks 
 the shocks of doom 
 shall suffer j. 
 
 SHORE 
 
 from the Italian s. 
 by the pleasant s. 
 that forgetful s. 
 the doubtful s. 
 on boundless shores 
 upon the northern s. 
 To the other 5. 
 from the quiet i-. 
 paced the shores 
 vaster grew the 5. 
 an ever-breaking s. 
 all the happy shores 
 
 SHOT 
 
 s. ere half thy draught 
 
 6. 3- 
 
 SHOUT 
 
 87. 3. the distant s. 
 
 SHOWER 
 
 86. I. Sweet after 5/i^w^rj 
 
 SIDE 
 
 51. I. near us at our s. 
 
 52. 2. move me from thy s. 
 80. I. kindly from his j. 
 
 103. 10. lift her shining sides 
 
 103. II. Up the J. I went 
 
 114. 5. moving J. by .y. 
 
 Ep. 18. its sunny s. 
 
Index. 
 
 165 
 
 35- 4- 
 
 108. I. 
 
 119. 3. 
 
 66. 2. 
 
 13- 
 
 2. 
 
 19. 
 
 
 SO- 
 
 
 TS- 
 
 
 94- 
 
 
 95- 
 
 
 103. 
 
 II 
 
 Ep. 
 
 22. 
 
 Ep. 39. 
 
 Pro. 9. 
 
 5- I- 
 
 48. 3. 
 
 52- 4- 
 
 54. I- 
 
 96. 6. 
 
 21. 6. 
 
 30. 6. 
 
 57- I 
 
 103. 3 
 
 Pro. 
 
 SIGH 
 
 answer with a s. 
 Nor feed with sighs 
 witli scarce a j. 
 
 SIGHT 
 
 him whose s. is lost 
 
 SIGNET 
 
 set his royal s. 
 
 SILENCE 
 
 S. till I be silent too 
 makes a s. in the hills 
 And J. followed 
 shall J. guard thy fame 
 the s. of the breast 
 strangely on the 5. 
 fell in .?. on his neck 
 tho' in s. wishing joy 
 
 SILVER 
 
 Their sleeping s. 
 
 SIN 
 
 what seem'd my j. 
 hold it half a s. 
 holds it s. and shame 
 dash'd with flecks of s. 
 sins of will 
 
 SINAI 
 
 Sinai s peaks of old 
 
 SING {verb) 
 s. to him that rests 
 s. because I must 
 Once more we sang 
 To s. so wildly 
 sang of what is wise 
 
 SIRE 
 
 5. the yet-loved s. 
 
 SISTER 
 
 4. sisters of a day gone by 
 
 2. Leave thou thy j. 
 
 SIT (verb) 
 I. alone to where he sits 
 
 3. hand-in-hand Sat silent 
 r. and there he sits 
 
 8. I myself who sat apart 
 
 SKIRT 
 
 1. skirts of self 
 
 2. skirts of happy chance 
 
 SKULL 
 
 2. s. which Thou hast 
 made 
 
 12. 3. 
 
 15. 1. 
 
 17. 2. 
 
 38. I. 
 
 66. 4. 
 
 72. 6. 
 
 95- I- 
 
 95- 3- 
 
 4. I. 
 
 II. 5- 
 
 18. 3- 
 
 30. 5- 
 
 43. I- 
 
 68. I. 
 
 68. 4- 
 
 71. I. 
 
 22. 3. 
 
 27- 3- 
 
 99- 5- 
 
 62. 3- 
 
 127. 5. 
 
 39- I- 
 69. I. 
 
 95. 8. 
 
 22. I. 
 
 78. I. 
 
 105. 2. 
 
 106. 2. 
 IIS- I. 
 
 lO. 4. 
 
 SKY 
 
 glow of southern skies 
 blown about the skies 
 the bounding s. 
 under alter'd skies 
 dreaming of the s. 
 s. with flying boughs 
 o'er the s. The silvery 
 
 haze 
 in fragrant skies 
 gazed upon the s. 
 
 SLANDER 
 
 The civic s. 
 
 SLEEP 
 
 To .y. I give my powers 
 
 silver s. 
 
 wears the mask of s. 
 
 their s. is sweet 
 
 If S. and Death be 
 
 truly one 
 6". Death's twin brother 
 That foolish s. transfers 
 vS". kinsman thou 
 
 SLOPE 
 
 fifth autumnal s. 
 
 SLOTH 
 
 weeds of s. 
 
 SLUMBER 
 
 the J. of the poles 
 
 SMILE 
 
 matter for a flying s. 
 SMILE (verb) 
 smilest knowing all is 
 well 
 
 SMOKE 
 
 living s. 
 
 black with s. and frost 
 
 SNARE 
 
 thro' wordy S7iares 
 
 SNOW 
 
 from .y. to s. 
 
 The silent 5. 
 
 under other snows 
 
 across the s. 
 
 last long streak of s. 
 
 SOD 
 
 beneath the clover s. 
 
 SOIL 
 
 S3. 2. The s. left barren 
 
1 66 
 
 Index. 
 
 38. 
 65. 
 
 6. 5- 
 
 31- 
 
 77- 
 
 78. 
 
 Ep. 
 
 Pro. 
 
 6. 
 
 85. 
 
 90. 
 
 23- 
 
 30. 
 37- 
 38. 
 38. 
 49- 
 52. 
 57- 
 11- 
 76. 
 76. 
 77- 
 83. 
 87. 
 95- 
 9Q- 
 
 102. 
 
 105. 
 
 107. 
 
 "S- 
 
 n6. 
 
 125. 
 
 Lp. 
 Ep. 
 
 3- 
 16. 
 
 
 19. 
 
 
 21. 
 
 
 23- 
 
 
 28. 
 
 
 39- 
 
 
 49- 
 
 4 
 
 SOLACE 
 
 doubtful gleam of s. 
 in that s. can I sing 
 
 SOMETHING 
 
 A", it is that thou hast 
 
 lost 
 .y. written, .y. thought 
 'Tis well ; 'tis j. 
 or J. seal'd The lips 
 changed to j. else 
 sense of s. lost 
 To s. greater 
 
 SON 
 
 Strong S. of God 
 thy gallant s. 
 the sons of flesh 
 Yea the' their sorts 
 
 SONG 
 
 breaking into s. by fits 
 A merry s. we sang 
 To lull with s. 
 songs I love to sing 
 songs I sing of thee 
 slightest air of .r. 
 thy plaintive s. 
 the J. of woe 
 the breeze of s. 
 the matin so7igs 
 thy songs are vain 
 on songs and deeds 
 a fresher throat with s. 
 noise Of sottgs 
 we sang old songs 
 s. that slights 
 its matin s. 
 
 Be neither s. nor game 
 son^s he loved to hear 
 a sightless s. 
 songs, the stirring air 
 s. were full of care 
 the spirit of the s. 
 embalm In dying songs 
 the songs I made 
 SOOTHE (verb) 
 influence-rich to s. 
 
 SORROW 
 
 s. cruel fellowship 
 
 s. such a changeling be 
 
 1 brim with s. 
 sorrow'' s barren song 
 sometimes in my .s. shut 
 .v. touch'd with joy 
 
 6". fixt upon the dead 
 the s. deepens down 
 
 103. 
 126. 
 
 109. 5. 
 
 Pro. 7. 
 
 5- I- 
 
 32. 4. 
 
 3- 
 
 SORROW {continued) 
 
 1. OS. wilt thou live 
 
 2. O S. wilt thou rule 
 
 \. O s., then can s. wane 
 
 1. the s. in my blood 
 
 }. Be dimm'd of .y. 
 
 \. s. under human skies 
 
 \. that .y. makes us wise 
 
 [. that .y. makes us wise 
 
 \. less of s. lives in me 
 
 SORT 
 
 in such a s. 
 SOUL 
 
 mind and 5. according 
 
 conceal the S. within 
 
 souls possess them- 
 selves 
 
 garden of the semis 
 
 the dawning .y. 
 
 the general s. 
 
 The eternal j. 
 
 the sweetest s. 
 
 a s. of nobler tone 
 
 Sweet 5. 
 
 thro' a lattice on the s. 
 
 such credit with the .y. 
 
 while the s. exults 
 
 takes us as a single s. 
 
 O crown'd s. 
 
 His living .y. was flash'd 
 
 count as kindred souls 
 
 The feeble .y. 
 
 careless eye On souls 
 
 s. on highest mission 
 
 s. in s. 
 
 s. shall draw from out 
 the vast 
 
 SOUND 
 
 between me and the s. 
 fill'd with joyful j. 
 .y. of streams 
 s. of that forgetful 
 
 shore 
 with roaring s. 
 O J. to rout the brood 
 
 SOURCE 
 
 The very s. 
 
 SPACE 
 
 2. The round of s. 
 7. in grander s. 
 
 3. ■ 
 
 the worlds of 
 
 117. 3. 
 
 SPAN 
 
 everv j. of shade 
 
Index. 
 
 167 
 
 37- 3- 
 116. 3- 
 
 96. 4- 
 
 23- 4- 
 85. 2r. 
 95- 12. 
 
 9. 2. 
 83. 3- 
 
 60. 2. 
 122. 2. 
 
 SPEAK (z/^r3) 
 
 I can s. a little then 
 harshly will he s. 
 not worthy ev'n to s. 
 Still s. to me of me 
 
 SPECTRE 
 
 spectres of the mind 
 
 SPEECH 
 
 wed itself with S. 
 dear words of human j. 
 matter-moulded forms 
 of s. 
 
 SPEED 
 
 a favorable s. 
 
 SPEEDWELL 
 
 speedweWs darling blue 
 
 SPHERE 
 
 his proper s. 
 A s. of stars 
 
 SPICE 
 
 With summer s. 
 
 
 
 SPIKENARD 
 
 32- 
 
 3- 
 
 With costly s. 
 
 SPIRE 
 
 83. 
 27. 
 
 3- 
 3- 
 
 bring the foxglove s. 
 the spires of ice 
 
 17- 
 
 2. 
 
 20. 
 
 5- 
 
 28. 
 
 5- 
 
 38. 
 
 3- 
 
 40. 
 
 I. 
 
 41. 
 
 I. 
 
 42. 
 
 3. 
 
 43. 
 
 I. 
 
 47- 
 
 4- 
 
 52. 
 
 2. 
 
 52. 
 
 3- 
 
 56. 
 
 2. 
 
 60. 
 
 I. 
 
 61. 
 
 3 
 
 82. 
 
 2. 
 
 84. 
 
 9- 
 
 85. 
 
 21. 
 
 86. 
 
 4- 
 
 88. 
 
 2 
 
 91. 
 
 2 
 
 93- 
 
 I 
 
 93. 
 
 2 
 
 SPIRIT 
 
 A .S". , not a breathing 
 
 voice 
 I in s. saw thee move 
 the vital spirits 
 my troubled s. 
 spirits render'd free 
 Spirits breathed away 
 s. ere our fatal loss 
 the spirifs inner deep 
 spirifs folded bloom 
 the spirits fade away 
 The ^. of true love 
 keeps a s. wholly true 
 s. does but mean 
 My s. loved and loves 
 I loved thee, ^S". 
 the s. walks 
 Thy J. should fail 
 Thy s. up to mine 
 A hundred spirits 
 employ Thy spirits 
 I know Thy s. 
 No s. ever brake 
 he, the .S". himself 
 
 94. 
 
 94. 
 
 97- 
 102. 
 105. 
 123. 
 125. 
 127. 
 Ep. 
 
 98. 
 Ep. 
 
 89. 
 98. 
 Ep. 
 
 44. 
 64. 
 go. 
 
 69. 
 1x5. 
 
 16. 
 
 82. 
 
 SPIRIT (^continued) 
 2. 6". to S., Ghost to 
 
 Ghost 
 2. call The spirits 
 2. s. is at peace with all 
 2. of my s. as of a wife 
 
 2. spirits oi a diverse love 
 5. the s. breathes 
 
 3. in my j. will I dwell 
 3. the s. of the song 
 
 5. While thou dear s. 
 20. all my genial spirits 
 
 SPLENDOR 
 
 2. all her s. seems 
 30. let the s. fall 
 
 SPORT 
 
 3. our simple sports 
 
 7. loud With J. and song 
 
 6. the J. of random sun 
 
 SPOT 
 
 3. every pleasant j. 
 SPRING (season) 
 
 5. the secret of the S. 
 I. would be S. no more 
 
 18. S. that swells 
 
 50. not unlike to that of 6". 
 
 SPRING {/oiiutaifi) 
 3. Lethean springs 
 
 6. beside its vocal springs 
 I . the inviolate s. 
 
 SQUARE 
 
 3. in the public squares 
 
 1. the flowering squares 
 STAGGER {verb) 
 
 4. And staggers blindly 
 
 STALK 
 
 2. the shatter'd stalks 
 STAND {verb) 
 
 I. ungather'd shall it s. 
 
 STAR 
 
 stars, she whispers 
 bosom of the stars 
 orb into the perfect s. 
 a brooding j. 
 grapples with his evil s. 
 drench the morning s. 
 yonder orient s. 
 the crimson-circled s. 
 secret of the .r. 
 the polar s. 
 the shaping of a s. 
 
 3- 
 
 2. 
 
 17- 
 
 4- 
 
 24- 
 
 4- 
 
 46. 
 
 4- 
 
 64. 
 
 2. 
 
 72. 
 
 6. 
 
 86. 
 
 4- 
 
 89. 
 
 12. 
 
 97- 
 
 6. 
 
 01. 
 
 3- 
 
 103. 
 
 9 
 
1 68 
 
 Index. 
 
 
 
 STAR (contmued) 
 
 
 
 STRAIT 
 
 130. 
 
 2. 
 
 in .r. and flower 
 
 84. 
 
 10. 
 
 the dolorous s. 
 
 Lp. 
 
 8. 
 31- 
 
 brighten like the s. 
 s. and system 
 
 lOI. 
 
 5- 
 
 STRANGER 
 
 the stran£-er^s child 
 
 
 STATE {condition) 
 
 104. 
 
 3- 
 
 like strangers' voices 
 
 14. 
 
 4- 
 
 sorrow o'er my s. 
 
 X05. 
 
 I. 
 
 the stranger'' s land 
 
 24. 
 
 3- 
 
 lowness of the present s. 
 
 
 
 STREAK 
 
 64. 
 82. 
 
 I. 
 
 second s. sublime 
 From J. to J. 
 
 115. 
 
 I. 
 
 last long s. of snow 
 
 2. 
 
 
 
 
 85- 
 
 6. 
 
 above our mortal s. 
 
 
 
 STREAM 
 
 
 
 
 36. 
 
 3. 
 
 sound of streams 
 
 
 STATE ^kingdom) 
 
 89. 
 
 
 the s. beneath us ran 
 
 64. 
 
 3- 
 
 mighty state s decrees 
 
 115- 
 
 3- 
 
 On winding s. 
 
 89. 
 
 9- 
 
 changes of the s. 
 
 
 
 STREAMLET 
 
 
 
 STATUE 
 
 79. 
 
 3. 
 
 the same cold s. 
 
 103. 
 Ep. 
 
 3- 
 
 4- 
 
 stood A s. veil'd 
 like a s. solid-set 
 
 7- 
 
 
 STREET 
 
 long unlovely s. 
 
 
 
 STAY [verb) 
 
 7- 
 
 3- 
 
 on the bald s. 
 
 12. 
 
 2. 
 
 I cannot s. 
 
 31- 
 
 3- 
 
 streets were fill'd 
 
 120. 
 
 2. 
 
 I would not J. 
 
 69. 
 
 
 streets were black 
 
 
 
 STEAM 
 
 123. 
 
 I. 
 
 where the long s, roars 
 
 89. 
 
 2. 
 
 s. of town 
 
 
 
 STRIFE 
 
 
 
 
 50- 
 
 4- 
 
 term of human j. 
 
 38. 
 95- 
 
 I. 
 
 II. 
 
 STEP 
 
 With weary steps 
 the steps of time 
 
 85. 
 106. 
 
 14. 
 4- 
 
 to handle spiritual s. 
 forms of party s. 
 
 STRING 
 
 
 
 STEPPING-STONES 
 
 87. 
 
 7- 
 
 slackly from the s. 
 
 '■ 
 
 1. 
 
 men may rise on s. 
 STERN {adj.) 
 
 88. 
 
 3- 
 
 command the strings 
 STRIVE {verb) 
 
 no. 
 
 3- 
 
 The J. were mild 
 
 96. 
 
 2. 
 
 strove to make it true 
 
 
 
 STILE 
 
 113- 
 
 2. 
 
 To s., to fashion 
 
 100. 
 
 2. 
 
 simple s. from mead 
 
 
 
 STROKE 
 
 
 
 STILLNESS 
 
 39- 
 
 I. 
 
 my random s. 
 
 85- 
 
 20. 
 
 A part of s. 
 
 
 
 STRONG {adj. ) 
 
 123. 
 
 I. 
 
 s. of the central sea 
 
 STONE 
 
 73- 
 
 '■ 
 
 s. as thou wert true 
 
 STUDENT 
 
 2. 
 
 I. 
 
 graspest at the stofies 
 
 128. 
 
 5. 
 
 the s. at his desk 
 
 39- 
 
 1. 
 
 graspest at the stones 
 
 
 
 
 56. 
 
 I. 
 
 quarried j. 
 
 
 
 SUGGESTION 
 
 108. 
 
 I. 
 
 lest I stiffen into s. 
 
 STORE 
 
 95- 
 
 8. 
 
 S. to her inmost cell 
 
 SUIT 
 
 81. 
 
 2. 
 
 hope of richer s. 
 
 85- 
 
 15- 
 
 can it s. me to forget 
 
 Ep. 
 
 21. 
 
 s. of happy days 
 
 
 
 SUMMER 
 
 
 
 STORM 
 
 17- 
 
 4- 
 
 balmy drops in s. dark 
 
 72. 
 
 i_ 
 
 lash with s. 
 
 85. 
 
 iS. 
 
 S. on the steaming 
 
 87. 
 
 2. 
 
 s. their high-built or- 
 gans 
 Well roars the s. 
 
 91. 
 
 3- 
 
 floods 
 summer'' s hourly-mel- 
 
 127. 
 
 j^ 
 
 
 
 lowing change 
 
 
 
 95- 
 
 I, 
 
 silvery haze of s. 
 
 
 
 STRAIN 
 
 105. 
 
 7- 
 
 the .y. in the seed 
 
 IS- 
 
 3- 
 
 could brook the j. 
 
 Ep. 
 
 5- 
 
 summers that are flown 
 
Index. 
 
 169 
 
 
 
 SUMMIT 
 
 
 
 SYMPATHY 
 
 103. 
 
 2. 
 
 From hidden sutnmits 
 
 30. 
 
 6. 
 
 their mortal s. 
 
 
 
 
 63. 
 
 2. 
 
 I spare them s. 
 
 103. 
 
 4- 
 
 SUMMONS 
 
 a s. from the sea 
 
 85. 
 
 22. 
 
 painless j. with pain 
 
 SYSTEM 
 
 
 
 SUN 
 
 Pro 
 
 5 
 
 Our little systems 
 
 2. 
 
 3- 
 
 branding summer sutis 
 
 
 
 
 3- 
 
 2, 
 
 the dying j. 
 
 
 
 T. 
 
 24. 
 
 2. 
 
 first ^S". arose and set 
 
 
 
 
 72. 
 
 2, 
 
 the splendor of the J. 
 
 
 
 TABLET 
 
 /. glimmers 
 
 75- 
 
 4- 
 
 breathe beneath the j. 
 
 c^7- 
 
 4- 
 
 84. 
 
 7- 
 
 s. by s. the happy days 
 
 Ep. 
 
 13- 
 
 Their pensive tablets 
 
 117. 
 
 3. 
 
 the courses of the j. 
 
 
 
 TABLE-TALK 
 
 121. 
 
 
 the buried s. 
 
 84. 
 
 6. 
 
 genial t. 
 
 130. 
 
 I. 
 
 the rising j. 
 
 
 
 
 Ep. 
 
 6. 
 
 random ^. and shade 
 
 
 
 TACT 
 
 Ep. 
 
 20. 
 
 greet a whiter s. 
 
 SUNBEAM 
 
 no. 
 
 4. 
 
 The graceful t. 
 
 TAINT 
 
 15- 
 
 2. 
 
 s. strikes along 
 
 54. 
 
 I. 
 
 taints of blood 
 
 91. 
 
 4- 
 
 where the i". broodeth 
 
 
 
 TALE 
 
 
 
 SUNDOWN 
 
 12, 
 
 I. 
 
 a t. of woe 
 
 41. 
 
 5- 
 
 s. skirts the moor 
 
 
 
 TALK 
 
 
 
 
 109. 
 
 I. 
 
 discursive t. 
 
 
 
 SUNFLOWER 
 
 
 
 
 lOI. 
 
 2. 
 
 Unloved the s. shining 
 
 
 
 TALK {verb) 
 
 
 
 
 71- 
 
 3- 
 
 we t. as once we talk'd 
 
 
 
 SUNSHINE 
 
 90. 
 
 3- 
 
 To t. them o'er 
 
 10. 
 
 4- 
 
 the J. and the rains 
 
 107. 
 
 5- 
 
 t. and treat Of all 
 
 
 
 
 Ep. 
 
 25- 
 
 t. of others 
 
 
 
 SURFACE 
 
 
 
 
 49. 
 
 2. 
 
 sullen s. crisp 
 
 10. 
 
 5- 
 
 TANGLE 
 
 toss with t. 
 
 
 SWALLOW-FLIGHTS 
 
 
 
 
 48. 
 
 4- 
 
 short ^. of song 
 
 121. 
 
 2. 
 
 TEAM 
 
 t. is loosen'd 
 
 
 
 SWEETNESS 
 
 121. 
 
 4- 
 
 moving of the t. 
 
 35- 
 
 4. 
 
 change my j. 
 
 
 
 TEAR 
 
 64. 
 83. 
 
 5- 
 2. 
 
 secret s. in the stream 
 s. from its proper place 
 Not mine the s. 
 
 I. 
 13- 
 
 2. 
 
 far-off interest of tears 
 Tears of the widower 
 
 110. 
 
 S- 
 
 19. 
 
 3. 
 
 When fill'd with tears 
 
 
 
 SWEEP 
 
 20. 
 
 3- 
 
 tears that at their foun- 
 
 89. 
 
 5. 
 
 s. of scythe 
 
 
 
 tain freeze 
 
 
 
 
 40. 
 
 3- 
 
 tears are on the moth- 
 
 
 
 SWEEP [verb) 
 
 
 
 er's face 
 
 Ep. 
 
 24. 
 
 But siveeps away 
 
 58. 
 
 3- 
 
 a fruitless t. 
 
 128. 
 
 4- 
 
 SWORD 
 
 sheathe a useless s. 
 
 72. 
 
 78. 
 78. 
 
 3. 
 4. 
 5- 
 
 With thy quick tears 
 No single t. 
 Her tears are dry 
 
 
 
 SYCAMORE 
 
 90. 
 
 3- 
 
 a kindly /. 
 
 89. 
 
 I. 
 
 towering s. 
 
 
 
 TELL {verb) 
 
 95- 
 
 14. 
 
 large leaves of the s. 
 
 31. 
 
 2. 
 
 tellmg what it is to die 
 
 
 
 SYMBOL 
 
 40. 
 
 7- 
 
 t. them all 
 
 ^^5- 
 
 24. 
 
 grief with sytnbols play 
 Mute symbols 
 
 
 
 TEMPEST 
 
 Ep. 
 
 IS- 
 
 17- 
 
 4- 
 
 t. mars Mid-ocean 
 
I70 
 
 Index, 
 
 16. 
 
 85. 12. 
 
 Pro. 
 
 6 
 
 I. 
 
 
 3- 
 
 
 7- 
 
 
 13- 
 
 
 14. 
 
 
 21. 
 
 
 34- 
 
 
 35- 
 
 
 37- 
 
 
 40. 
 
 
 44- 
 
 
 45- 
 
 
 52. 
 
 
 60. 
 
 
 73. 
 
 
 78. 
 
 2. 
 
 85. 
 
 8 
 
 85. 
 
 25- 
 
 97- 
 
 8. 
 
 107. 
 
 5- 
 
 III. 
 
 4- 
 
 120. 
 
 3- 
 
 Pro. 
 
 45- 
 100. 
 Ep. : 
 
 46. 
 69. 
 
 70. 2. 
 
 TENANT 
 
 tenatits of a single 
 breast 
 
 TENDERNESS 
 
 All-comprehensive t. 
 
 TERM 
 
 t. of human strife 
 
 THEME 
 
 glanced from t. to /. 
 
 THEW 
 
 the the%vs of Anakim 
 
 THICKET 
 
 all the t. rang 
 
 THING 
 
 things we see 
 
 higher things 
 
 a il. so blind 
 
 like a guilty ^. 
 
 strange do these thifigs 
 
 seem 
 ask a thousand things 
 ye speak an idle /. 
 thitigs all mortal 
 so sweet a /■. 
 things divine 
 new things 
 earthly things 
 the things I touch 
 the t. beloved 
 a z*. so low 
 such things to be 
 over all tilings 
 all things round me 
 these things pass 
 a thousand things 
 treat Of all things 
 seem'd the /. he was 
 born to other things 
 watchest all things 
 think the t. farewell 
 
 THINK (verb) 
 
 thinks he was not 
 
 made 
 thought that " this is I " 
 1 1. once more he seems 
 all we thought and 
 
 loved 
 
 THORN 
 
 t. and flower 
 
 I took the thorfts 
 
 THOROUGHFARE 
 
 shadowy thoroughfares 
 
 
 
 THOUGHT 
 
 6. 
 
 9- 
 
 with the t. her color 
 burns 
 
 13- 
 
 3- 
 
 An awful t. 
 
 23- 
 
 4- 
 
 T. leapt out to wed 
 with T. 
 
 23- 
 
 4- 
 
 Ere T. could wed itself 
 
 32. 
 
 I- 
 
 Nor other t. 
 
 32. 
 
 3- 
 
 All subtle t. 
 
 36. 
 
 3- 
 
 all poetic t. 
 
 49- 
 
 2. 
 
 lightest wave of t. 
 
 52. 
 
 I. 
 
 topmost froth of i. 
 
 65. 
 
 2. 
 
 a happy t. 
 
 84. 
 
 I. 
 
 fix my thoughts 
 
 85. 
 
 8. 
 
 thoughts were little 
 worth 
 
 90. 
 
 6. 
 
 one lonely t. 
 
 94. 
 
 I. 
 
 whose t. Avould hold 
 
 19- 
 
 3- 
 
 in my thoughts with 
 scarce a sigh 
 
 22. 
 
 4- 
 
 thoughts of life 
 
 22. 
 
 5- 
 
 t. breaks out a rose 
 
 83. 4 
 
 64. 
 
 3- 
 
 91. 
 
 I. 
 
 87. 
 
 2. 
 
 9?: 
 103. 
 112. 
 
 4- 
 
 6. 
 
 10. 
 
 4- 
 
 40. 
 126. 
 
 6 
 I. 
 
 THREAD 
 
 he plays with threads 
 
 THRESHOLD 
 
 t. of the mind 
 t. of the night 
 
 THROAT 
 
 flood a fresher t. 
 
 THRONE 
 
 thrones of civil power 
 whisper of the t. 
 
 THRUSH 
 
 the mounted /. 
 
 THUNDER-MUSIC 
 
 And t. rolling 
 
 TIDE 
 
 The t. flows down 
 double tides of chariots 
 forward-creeping tides 
 vassal tides 
 
 TIDINGS 
 
 t. of the bride 
 t. of my friend 
 
 TIGER 
 
 7. let the ape and t. die 
 
 TIME 
 
 4. Come T., and teach 
 
 5. A t. to sicken 
 
 5. that T. could bring 
 
Index, 
 
 71 
 
 28. 
 
 I. 
 
 29. 
 
 4- 
 
 43- 
 
 4- 
 
 44- 
 
 2. 
 
 50- 
 
 2. 
 
 52. 
 
 4- 
 
 59. 
 
 3- 
 
 72. 
 
 5- 
 
 84. 
 
 10. 
 
 85. 
 
 7- 
 
 85. 
 
 17- 
 
 85. 
 
 29. 
 
 104. 
 
 I. 
 
 105. 
 
 2. 
 
 105. 
 
 3- 
 
 107. 
 
 2. 
 
 113- 
 
 4. 
 
 Ep. 
 
 6. 
 
 gP- 
 
 23- 
 
 Ep. 
 
 35. 
 
 41. 6. 
 
 78. 
 8. 
 
 26. 
 no. 
 
 56. 
 
 TIME {continued) 
 The t. draws near 
 Before their t. 
 he loved me here in T. 
 Gives out at times 
 t. a maniac 
 
 When t. hath sunder'd 
 leave at times to play 
 struck down thro' t. 
 What t. mine own 
 the cycled times 
 Which masters T. 
 seeks to beat in /. 
 The t. draws near 
 There in due t, 
 like growth of t. 
 t. admits not flowers 
 when the t. has birth 
 out of weaker times 
 the t. draws on 
 ere the times were ripe 
 
 TIPS 
 
 3. kindled at the tips 
 
 TITAN 
 
 8. pulses of a Titan^ 
 heart 
 
 TO-BE 
 
 all the secular T. 
 
 TO-DAY 
 
 thinking, here /. 
 
 TOIL 
 
 after t. and storm 
 t. cooperant 
 
 TOKEN 
 
 t. of distress 
 
 TOMB 
 
 plant it on his t, 
 
 TO-MORROW 
 
 here /. will he come 
 
 TONE 
 
 in divers tones 
 t. and tint 
 
 TONGUE 
 
 fickle tongues 
 his double t. 
 
 TO-NIGHT 
 
 he will see them on t. 
 
 TOOTH 
 
 red in t. and claw 
 
 6. 
 
 15- 
 26. 
 
 128. 
 
 Ep. 
 
 ^p'; 
 
 84. 8 
 
 TOUCH 
 
 no /. of change 
 take The t. of change 
 t. of earthly things 
 If such a dreamy t. 
 with no /. of scorn 
 forever at a t. 
 
 TOWER 
 
 lessening towers 
 dash'd on t. and tree 
 towers fall'n 
 a feudal t. 
 Dumb is that t. 
 
 TOWN 
 
 the noisy t. 
 
 at random thro' the t. 
 
 din and steam of t. 
 
 if I praise the busy t. 
 
 any mother t. 
 
 the silent-lighted /. 
 
 TRACE 
 
 traces of the past 
 
 TRACK 
 
 t. Whereon with equal 
 
 feet 
 down this lower t. 
 
 TRACT 
 
 tracts that pleased us 
 lifelong t. of time 
 in the t. of time 
 tracts of calm 
 tracts of fluent heat 
 
 26. 
 95- 
 
 95- 
 
 123. 
 Ep. 
 
 TRAIN 
 
 t. of bounteous hours 
 
 TRANCE 
 
 1. some long t. 
 
 II. my ^. Was cancell'd 
 TRANSFER {verb) 
 
 26, t. The whole I felt 
 
 TRAVELLER 
 
 2. The t. hears me 
 
 TREE 
 
 gazing on thee, sullen t- 
 
 the moulder'd t. 
 
 trees Laid their dark 
 
 arms 
 trees Laid their dark 
 
 arms 
 where grew the t. 
 on the trees The dead 
 
 leaf 
 
1/2 
 
 Index. 
 
 
 
 TRIFLE 
 
 
 
 TURN {verb) 
 
 66. 
 6g. 
 
 I 
 I 
 
 with any t. pleased 
 chatter'd trifles 
 
 TRIUMPH 
 
 41. 
 68. 
 
 2. 
 
 3- 
 
 turtCd to something 
 I t. about 
 
 TWILIGHT 
 
 no. 
 
 4 
 
 felt thy t. was as mine 
 
 50- 
 
 4- 
 
 t. of eternal day 
 
 
 
 TROTH 
 
 79- 
 
 3- 
 
 that roam the t. 
 
 27. 
 
 3 
 
 that never plighted t. 
 
 11. 
 
 2. 
 
 TWINKLE {verb) 
 twinkled into green 
 
 4. 
 
 4 
 
 TROUBLE 
 
 clouds of nameless t. 
 
 An inner t. 
 
 t. in thine eye 
 
 t. of my youth 
 
 t. live with April days 
 
 33- 
 
 4- 
 
 TYPE 
 
 for want of such a t. 
 
 41- 
 
 68. 
 
 5 
 
 55- 
 
 2. 
 
 So careful of the t. 
 
 3 
 
 56. 
 
 I. 
 
 So careful of the t. 
 
 68. 
 83. 
 
 4 
 
 2 
 
 4: 
 
 I. 
 
 35- 
 
 thousand types are gone 
 a noble t. 
 
 
 
 TRUE 
 
 
 
 
 56. 
 
 5- 
 
 battled for the t. 
 
 
 
 U. 
 
 Ep. 
 
 I. 
 
 t. and tried 
 
 
 
 UNCLE 
 
 
 
 TRUMPET 
 
 84. 
 
 4- 
 
 babbled" Uy 
 
 96. 
 
 6. 
 
 t. blew so loud 
 
 
 
 UNDERSTAND 
 
 
 
 
 97- 
 
 9- 
 
 I cannot tt. ; I love 
 
 
 
 TRUST 
 
 
 
 
 85. 
 
 3- 
 
 t. in things above 
 
 
 
 UNITY 
 
 116. 
 
 2. 
 
 to hearten /. 
 TRUST {verb) 
 
 42. 
 
 I. 
 
 It was but 7i. of place 
 
 UNLIKENESS 
 
 Pro. 
 
 6 
 
 t. it comes from thee 
 
 79- 
 
 5- 
 
 As his u. fitted mine 
 
 Pro. 
 
 10 
 
 I t. he lives in thee 
 
 
 
 UNREST 
 
 
 
 TRUTH 
 
 IS- 
 
 4- 
 
 wild 7/. that lives 
 
 Pro. 
 
 II. 
 
 where they fail in t. 
 
 
 
 URANIA 
 
 I. 
 
 I. 
 
 I held it i. 
 
 37- 
 
 I. 
 
 U. speaks 
 
 18. 
 
 2. 
 
 it looks, in t. 
 
 
 
 URN 
 
 33- 
 36. 
 36. 
 
 3- 
 I. 
 2. 
 
 a t divine 
 
 trtiths in manhood 
 
 t. in closest words 
 
 9- 
 
 95- 
 
 2. 
 2. 
 
 his holy u. 
 
 the fluttering u. 
 
 36. 
 
 2. 
 
 /. embodied in a tale 
 
 
 
 USE 
 
 42. 
 
 3- 
 
 reaps A t. 
 
 5- 
 
 2. 
 
 u. in measured lan- 
 
 53. 
 
 3- 
 
 preach it as a t. 
 
 
 
 guage 
 
 68. 
 
 4- 
 
 I discern the t. 
 
 45- 
 
 2. 
 
 «. of " I " and " me " 
 
 85. 
 
 I. 
 
 This t. came borne 
 
 45- 
 
 4- 
 
 this «. may lie in blood 
 
 125- 
 
 2. 
 
 so fix'd in t. 
 
 78. 
 
 5- 
 
 with long 7i. her tears 
 
 127. 
 
 2. 
 
 social t. 
 
 
 
 are dry 
 
 131- 
 
 3- 
 
 truths that never can 
 
 105. 
 
 3. 
 
 bond of dying u. 
 
 
 
 be proved 
 
 III. 
 
 6. 
 
 soil'd with all ignoble «, 
 
 
 
 TULIP 
 
 
 
 V. 
 
 83. 
 
 3. 
 
 deep tulips 
 
 
 
 VAPOR 
 
 
 
 TUMULT 
 
 107. 
 
 I. 
 
 bank Of V. 
 
 75- 
 
 5- 
 
 t- of acclaim 
 
 Ep. 
 
 28. 
 
 the shining v. sail 
 
 87. 
 
 
 t. of the halls 
 
 
 
 VASE 
 
 deep V. of chilling tears 
 
 127. 
 
 5- 
 
 O'erlook'st the t. 
 
 4- 
 
 3- 
 
 
 
 TUNE 
 
 
 
 VASSAL 
 
 97- 
 
 3. 
 
 have beat in i. 
 
 48. 
 
 2. 
 
 makes it v. unto love 
 
Index. 
 
 173 
 
 
 
 VAST {adj. ) 
 
 
 
 VOICE 
 
 76. 
 
 3. 
 
 shall wither in the v. 
 
 28. 
 
 2. 
 
 voices of foui- hamlets 
 
 
 
 VASTNESS 
 
 28. 
 
 3- 
 
 Each V. four changes 
 
 
 
 
 30. 
 
 4. 
 
 our voices rang 
 
 97- 
 
 2. 
 
 In V. and in mystery 
 
 VAULT 
 
 30- 
 
 6. 
 
 z/f/r^j took a higher 
 range 
 
 72. 
 
 7- 
 
 up thy V. with roaring 
 
 35- 
 37- 
 
 I. 
 
 V. that man could trust 
 many an abler v. 
 
 
 
 sound 
 
 56. 
 
 7- 
 
 V. to soothe and bless 
 
 
 
 VEIL 
 
 69. 
 
 4- 
 
 The V. was low 
 
 30- 
 
 7- 
 
 from V. to V. 
 
 69. 
 
 5- 
 
 V. was not the v. of 
 
 grief 
 V. the richest-toned 
 
 56- 
 67. 
 
 7- 
 4. 
 
 Behind the v. 
 
 V. from coast to coast 
 
 75- 
 
 2. 
 
 89. 
 
 13- 
 
 the woodbine v. 
 
 99. 
 
 I. 
 
 z/i?zc^j of the birds 
 
 
 
 
 104. 
 
 3- 
 
 strangers' voices 
 
 
 
 VERGE 
 
 1x6. 
 
 3- 
 
 V. I once have known 
 
 50. 
 
 4. 
 
 low dark v. of life 
 
 121. 
 
 4- 
 
 voices hail it 
 
 
 
 
 124. 
 
 3. 
 
 I heard a v. " believe 
 
 
 
 VERSE 
 
 
 
 no more " 
 
 75- 
 
 I. 
 
 V. that brings myself 
 
 127. 
 
 I. 
 
 V. across the storm 
 
 
 
 relief 
 
 130. 
 
 I. 
 
 V. is on the rolling air 
 
 
 
 
 130. 
 
 4- 
 
 circled with thy v. 
 
 
 
 VICE 
 
 131. 
 
 2. 
 
 A V. as unto him that 
 
 3- 
 
 4- 
 
 like a v. of blood 
 
 VIENNA 
 
 
 
 hears 
 
 VOID 
 
 85. 
 
 5- 
 
 in Vienna's fatal walls 
 
 13- 
 
 2. 
 
 A V. where heart on 
 
 98. 
 
 3- 
 
 I will not see V. 
 
 
 heart reposed 
 
 
 
 VIEW 
 
 54. 
 
 2. 
 
 cast as rubbish to the v. 
 
 33. 
 
 2. 
 
 her happy views 
 
 
 
 \iyN 
 
 75- 
 
 5- 
 
 out of human v. 
 
 20. 
 
 I. 
 
 thousand tender vows 
 
 92. 
 
 3- 
 
 and bared to ?v., A fact 
 
 79- 
 
 4- 
 
 we proffer"d vows 
 
 
 
 VIGOR 
 
 97- 
 
 8. 
 
 plighted vows 
 
 95- 
 
 8. 
 
 V. bold to dwell 
 
 VILENESS 
 
 
 
 W. 
 
 WAIN 
 
 SI- 
 
 I. 
 
 inner v. that we dread 
 
 VILLAGE 
 
 lOI. 
 
 3. 
 
 the lesser w. 
 
 WALK 
 
 60. 
 
 3- 
 
 little V. looks forlorn 
 
 8. 
 
 4- 
 
 those deserted walks 
 
 
 
 VIOLET 
 
 84. 
 
 6. 
 
 the flowery w. 
 
 18. 
 
 I. 
 
 V. of his native land 
 
 87. 
 
 4- 
 
 that long w. of limes 
 
 97. 
 
 7- 
 
 A wither 'd v. 
 
 
 
 WALK {verb) 
 
 105. 
 
 2. 
 
 The V. comes 
 
 68. 
 
 2. 
 
 I w. as ere I walk'd 
 
 IIS- 
 
 I. 
 
 the znolets blow 
 
 71. 
 
 3. 
 
 walking as of old we 
 walk'd 
 
 lis- 
 
 S- 
 
 Becomes an April v. 
 
 
 
 
 
 VIRTUE 
 
 
 
 WALL 
 
 82. 
 
 3- 
 
 use of V. out of earth 
 
 19. 
 
 4- 
 
 its wooded walls 
 
 85- 
 
 4- 
 
 Your words have v. 
 
 87. 
 
 
 the reverend walls 
 
 
 
 
 Ep. 
 
 16.' 
 
 The blind w. rocks 
 
 
 
 VISION 
 
 Ep. 
 
 30- 
 
 the roof, the w. 
 
 92. 
 
 I. 
 
 If any v. should reveal 
 
 
 
 
 103. 
 
 I. 
 
 dream'd a v. of the 
 
 
 
 WAN 
 
 
 
 dead 
 
 72. 
 
 5- 
 
 As isj. , as chill 
 
174 
 
 Index. 
 
 
 
 WANDER {verb) 
 
 
 
 WAV {continued) 
 
 8. 
 
 4. 
 
 other wanderings there 
 
 85. 
 
 II. 
 
 whatever w. my dayi 
 
 23- 
 
 2. 
 
 I w., often falling lame 
 
 
 
 decline 
 
 89. 
 
 2. 
 
 hither wander mg down 
 
 WANT 
 
 103. 
 
 5- 
 
 but lead the w. 
 
 WEAKNESS 
 
 33- 
 
 4- 
 
 for w. of such a type 
 
 21. 
 
 2. 
 
 would make w. weak 
 
 79- 
 
 5- 
 
 supplied my w. 
 
 S5. 
 
 13- 
 
 works of w. 
 
 98. 
 
 4- 
 
 a thousand watits 
 
 no. 
 
 9- 
 
 forgot his w. 
 
 J 06. 
 
 5- 
 
 Ring out the w. 
 
 
 
 WEALTH 
 
 III. 
 
 2. 
 
 His w. in forms 
 
 52- 
 
 4- 
 
 thy w. is gather'd in 
 
 
 
 WAR 
 
 79- 
 
 5- 
 
 my w. resembles thine 
 
 103. 
 
 9- 
 
 sing the death of w. 
 
 Ep. 
 
 26. 
 
 w. Of words and wit 
 
 106. 
 
 7- 
 
 thousand wars of old 
 
 
 
 WEB 
 
 
 
 WARDER 
 
 3- 
 
 2. 
 
 w. is wov'n across 
 
 39- 
 
 I. 
 
 Old w. of these buried 
 
 
 
 WEED 
 
 
 
 bones 
 
 27- 
 
 3- 
 
 the weeds of sloth 
 
 
 
 WARMTH 
 
 73- 
 
 3- 
 
 dim, with weeds 
 
 46. 
 
 4- 
 
 A rosy w. 
 
 
 
 WEEK 
 
 84. 
 95- 
 124. 
 
 2. 
 1. 
 4- 
 
 A central w. 
 
 genial w. 
 
 w. within the breast 
 
 WASSAIL 
 
 17- 
 
 80. 
 
 2. 
 
 3. 
 
 W. after w. the days 
 
 goby 
 burthen of the weeks 
 
 105. 
 
 5- 
 
 nor bowl of w. mantle 
 
 WASTE 
 
 119. 
 
 I. 
 
 WEEP {verb) 
 
 not as one that wee^s 
 
 22. 
 
 5- 
 
 somewhere in the w. 
 
 
 
 WEIGHT 
 
 a w. of nerves 
 
 
 
 12. 
 
 2. 
 
 
 
 WATCH 
 
 25- 
 
 2. 
 
 I loved the w. 
 
 91. 
 
 4- 
 
 in watches of the night 
 
 55- 
 
 4. 
 
 my w, of cares 
 
 
 
 WATCH {verb) 
 
 63- 
 
 I. 
 
 no w. upon my heart 
 
 
 
 Ep. 
 
 10. 
 
 that w. Of learning 
 
 63. 
 
 3- 
 
 may'st thou iv. me 
 
 
 
 WELCOME 
 
 74. 
 
 I. 
 
 To those that w. it 
 
 85- 
 
 6. 
 
 gave him w. there 
 
 
 
 WATER 
 
 90. 
 
 2. 
 
 An iron w. 
 
 15- 
 
 2. 
 
 the waters curl'd 
 
 
 
 WELL 
 
 17- 
 
 3- 
 
 waters day and night 
 
 10. 
 
 5- 
 
 roaring wells 
 
 58. 
 
 
 drop by drop the w. 
 
 108. 
 
 2. 
 
 wells of death 
 
 67. 
 
 I. 
 
 broad w. of the west 
 
 
 
 
 130. 
 
 I. 
 
 where the waters run 
 
 
 
 WEST 
 
 
 
 
 '5- 
 
 5- 
 
 dreary w. 
 
 
 
 WAVE 
 
 
 
 WHEAT 
 
 II. 
 
 5. 
 
 waves that sway 
 
 
 
 w aves of w. 
 belts of w. 
 
 19. 
 19. 
 
 I. 
 
 4- 
 
 hearing of the w. 
 the w. again Is vocal 
 
 91. 
 
 98. 
 
 3- 
 I. 
 
 49. 
 
 2. 
 
 lightest w. of thought 
 
 
 
 WHEEL 
 
 89. 
 
 12. 
 
 within the glooming w. 
 
 50. 
 
 I. 
 
 wheels of Being 
 
 122. 
 
 3- 
 
 a fuller w. 
 
 WAV 
 
 117. 
 
 3- 
 
 kiss of toothed wheels 
 
 WHISPER 
 
 6. 
 
 6. 
 
 met him on his w. 
 
 17- 
 
 I. 
 
 w. of an air 
 
 22. 
 
 2. 
 
 cheer'd the w. 
 
 64. 
 
 3- 
 
 w. of the throne 
 
 26. 
 
 I. 
 
 winds the dreary w. 
 
 79- 
 
 3- 
 
 whispers of the beau- 
 
 49. 
 
 3- 
 
 go thy w. 
 
 
 
 teous world 
 
 60. 
 
 3- 
 
 the household ways 
 
 81. 
 
 2. 
 
 This haunting w. 
 
 77- 
 
 4- 
 
 My darken'd ways 
 
 85. 
 
 23- 
 
 lightly does the w. fall 
 
Index. 
 
 75 
 
 S9- 
 Ep. 
 Ep. 
 
 Pro. 
 4- 
 
 4. 
 41. 
 54. 
 70. 
 
 85. 
 110. 
 
 131. 
 
 87. 3. 
 
 Ep. 
 
 Ep. 
 
 WHOLB 
 
 I. seems a separate iv. 
 I. living iv. 
 
 WIDOWER 
 
 I. tears of the w. 
 
 WIFE 
 
 I. but a TV. 
 
 7, made a iv. ere noon 
 
 [3. waiting to be made a iv. 
 
 WILL 
 
 4. Our 74////J are ours 
 
 I. my IV. is bondsman 
 
 4. wakes the iv. 
 
 3. wing my w. with might 
 I. sins of IV. 
 
 4. beyond the iv. 
 
 [Q. sense of human w. 
 
 5. imitative iv. 
 I. O living IV. 
 
 WILLOW 
 
 Among the willows 
 "wilt thou" 
 The " TO." answer'd 
 The "w." ask'd 
 
 WIND 
 
 g. 4. Sleep gentle winds 
 15. I. ivinds begin to rise 
 28. 3. changes on the w. 
 30. 3. winds were in the 
 
 beech 
 49. 3. blame not thou the 
 
 winds 
 
 2. No wing of w. 
 
 3. winds that roam 
 19. every pulse of w. 
 
 2. I hear a w. 
 14. TO. began to sweep 
 I. a passing to. 
 
 WIND {verb) 
 95. 10. mine in his was wound 
 
 WINE 
 
 37. 5. sacred w. 
 90. 3. when warm with to. 
 [07. 4. fetch the w. 
 
 WINE-FLASK 
 
 89. II. TO. lying couch'd in 
 moss 
 
 WING 
 
 9. I. Spread thy full wings 
 13. 5. time to rise on TO. 
 48. 4. Their wings in tears 
 
 78. 
 
 79- 
 
 81. 
 
 92. 
 103. 
 108. 
 
 39- 
 
 54- 
 78. 
 
 Pro. 
 36. 
 
 28. 
 
 Si- 
 xes. 
 
 3- 
 4 
 
 109. 
 
 6. 
 
 112. 
 
 I 
 
 113. 
 
 I 
 
 114. 
 
 5 
 
 98. 2. 
 
 WING {continued) 
 lightsome to. 
 wi7igs of fancy 
 wings of foresight 
 no TO. of wind 
 stronger wings 
 
 WINTER 
 
 growing winters 
 
 every to. 
 
 winters left behind 
 
 wisdom 
 . in Thy to. make me 
 wise 
 IV. dealt with mortal 
 
 powers 
 There must be to. 
 "Whatever TO. sleep 
 Nor let thy to. make 
 High TO. holds my to. 
 how much to. sleeps 
 side by side With to. 
 IV. heavenly 
 
 wise 
 circle of the to. 
 , likeness to the to. 
 
 wish 
 
 , on his way With wishes 
 
 . TO. that of the living 
 
 whole 
 
 cries against my w. 
 
 . TO. too strong for words 
 
 wish (verb) 
 . wisK'd no more to 
 wake 
 
 WISP 
 
 TO. that gleams On 
 Lethe 
 
 WITCH-ELM 
 
 Witch-elms that coun- 
 terchange 
 
 WOE 
 
 muffled round with to. 
 imaginative to. 
 would prelude to. 
 attributes of w. 
 in TO. and weal 
 
 WOLD 
 
 this high TO. 
 windy w. 
 
 WONDER 
 
 wonders that have 
 
1/6 
 
 Index. 
 
 27. 
 
 I. 
 
 35- 
 
 6. 
 
 69. 
 
 2. 
 
 85. 
 
 18. 
 
 86. 
 
 2. 
 
 89. 
 
 8. 
 
 105- 
 
 7- 
 
 107. 
 
 3. 
 
 Ep. 24. 
 
 105. 2. 
 
 99. 2. 
 115. 2. 
 
 «9- 3- 
 36. 3. 
 
 S- I- 
 
 5. I- 
 
 5- 3- 
 
 16. I. 
 
 18. 5. 
 
 48. ; 
 
 52. 1 
 
 58. 3 
 
 69- f 
 
 75- 2 
 
 85. ^ 
 
 85. 4 
 
 85. 21 
 
 93- 4 
 
 95- 7 
 
 95- 9 
 
 95- 12 
 
 125. 3 
 
 128. 4 
 
 Ep. 13 
 
 57- 2. 
 
 85. 13- 
 
 114. I. 
 
 117. I. 
 
 118. I. 
 118. 4. 
 
 WOOD 
 
 summer woods 
 batten'd in the woods 
 w. with thorny boughs 
 waning woods 
 dewy-tassell'd w. 
 distant woods 
 by yonder w. 
 w. which grides 
 To range the woods 
 
 WOODBINE 
 
 the w. blows 
 
 WOODLAND 
 
 woodlands holy 
 Now rings the 7V. 
 
 WONT 
 
 Use and M^. 
 
 WORD 
 
 the /F. had breath 
 
 WORD 
 
 to put in words 
 words like Nature 
 in words like weeds 
 What words are these 
 words that are not 
 
 heard 
 out of words a comfort 
 she sports with words 
 My words are only 
 
 •words 
 In those sad words 
 The words were hard 
 fitting aptest words 
 O true in iv. 
 Your words have virtue 
 words of human 
 
 speech 
 too strong for words 
 silent-speaking words 
 So w. by w. 
 Vague words 
 words were sweet 
 the bearing of a 7v. 
 living words of life 
 
 WORKING 
 
 in narrowest w. shut 
 
 WORK 
 
 my w. shall fail 
 to works of weakness 
 Let her IV. prevail 
 your w. is this 
 this w. of Time 
 type this w. of time 
 
 Pro. 8. 
 
 15. 2. 
 
 21. 5. 
 
 33- 4- 
 
 43- 3- 
 
 55- 4- 
 
 62. 
 64. 
 73- 
 75- 
 79- 
 95. 
 
 105. 
 
 114. 
 
 116. 
 
 121. 
 
 124. 
 
 126. 
 
 129. 
 
 29. 
 73- 
 
 57- 
 71- 
 103. 
 
 Pro. 9. 
 
 82. 3. 
 95- 7- 
 
 WORK i^verb) 
 
 one that with us works 
 
 WORLD 
 
 Help Thy vain worlds 
 strikes along the w. 
 To feel from w. to ^v. 
 fail not in a w. of sin 
 total w. since life began 
 world's altar-stairs 
 breathes a novel w. 
 a world's desire 
 So many worlds 
 w. which credits 
 the beauteous lu. 
 pulsations of the w. 
 Of rising worlds 
 I would the great w. 
 made the w. so fair 
 the world's great work 
 found Him not in w. 
 the worlds of space 
 mingle all the w. 
 
 WORM 
 
 not a w. is cloven 
 
 WORTH 
 
 What seem'd my w. 
 transplanted human w. 
 To test his w. 
 
 WRAITH 
 
 hollow w. 
 
 WRATH 
 
 w. that garners 
 a man in w. 
 
 WREATH 
 
 Make one w. more 
 miss'd an earthly w, 
 
 WRONG 
 
 we do him w. 
 sense of w. 
 
 1 did them w. 
 
 WYE 
 
 the babbhng W. 
 The IV. is hush'd 
 
 YEAR 
 
 SO forecast the years 
 years of gloom 
 teach me m2iT).y years 
 four sweet years 
 
Index. 
 
 177 
 
 28. 
 
 4- 
 
 30. 
 
 4 
 
 44- 
 46. 
 
 3- 
 3 
 
 52- 
 
 3. 
 
 59- 
 67. 
 81. 
 
 4- 
 2. 
 2, 
 
 91. 
 
 2, 
 
 92. 
 95- 
 
 3- 
 6. 
 
 106. 
 
 7- 
 
 106. 
 
 2. 
 
 106. 
 
 7- 
 
 109. 
 
 3. 
 
 no. 
 
 I. 
 
 114. 
 116. 
 
 7- 
 I. 
 
 Ep. 
 
 2. 
 3- 
 
 YEAR {continued) 
 This J/. I slept 
 sang with him Last_j'. 
 long harmonious ^^a^'j 
 and those five years 
 not the sinless jj'^'izr^ 
 hope ior years to come 
 number of thy years 
 More years had made 
 unaccomplish 'd years 
 within the coming^. 
 y. which once had 
 
 been 
 gift of years before 
 The y. is dying 
 The y. is going 
 Ring in the thousand 
 
 years 
 years of April blood 
 rathe and riper years 
 byjf. and hour 
 And meets the j/. 
 the conquer'd_y^^ri' 
 thrice three years 
 
 
 
 YEARNING 
 
 108. 
 116. 
 
 2 
 4- 
 
 And vacant y. 
 y. for the friendship 
 
 YEW 
 
 2, 
 
 39- 
 76. 
 
 I. 
 I. 
 
 2 
 
 Oldjf. which graspest 
 dark J)/, that graspest 
 mouldering of ay. 
 
 YIELD 
 
 102. 
 
 5 
 
 will not^. each other 
 
 YOUTH 
 
 18. 
 53- 
 
 125. 
 
 2 
 I 
 3 
 4 
 3 
 
 2 
 
 places of his J)/. 
 Whose jt'. was full 
 outliving heats of y. 
 trouble of m^ y. 
 y. and babe 
 laboring in hisjf. 
 never lost her jj/. 
 
 YULE 
 
 28. 
 
 5 
 
 merry bells of V. 
 
 YULE-CLOG 
 
 78. 
 
 2 
 
 y. sparkled keen 
 
f 
 
014 546 565 5 ^