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Sonnets to Sidney Lanier 
 
Sonnets to Sidney Lanier 
 
 And Other Lyrics by 
 Clifford Anderson Lanier 
 
 Edited, with an Introduction, 
 by Edward Howard Griggs 
 
 New York B. W. Huebsch 
 
 1915 
 
Copyright, 1915, by 
 B. W. HUEBSCH 
 
 
 Printed in U. S. A. 
 
 OCT 1 1 1915 
 
 S)CI,A411919 
 
Table of Contents 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Introduction 9 
 
 Sonnets to Sidney Lanier 15 
 
 I. "Since com hath 'increment above, below' " . 17 
 
 II. "My gentle tiller of right noble fields" . . 18 
 
 III. "Thou art not plagued with any cares of life" 19 
 
 IV, "Since thou art King, and I thy subject Prince" 20 
 V. "Thou magic breather of the silver flute" . . 21 
 
 VI. "When in the blaze of honor-giving eyes" . 22 
 
 VII. "Never can I forget one wintry night" . . 23 
 
 VIII. "What wonder that thy voice is true of sound" 24 
 
 Other Lyrics 25 
 
 Love's Reserve 27 
 
 Hymn to the Great Artist 28 
 
 The American Philomel 29 
 
 Forest Elixirs 31 
 
 Death in Life 33 
 
 Wilhelmein 35 
 
 Five O'clock Tea 36 
 
 The Happiest 37 
 
 To Mrs. Vinnie Ream Hoxie 38 
 
 Benvenuto Cellini 39 
 
 The Men Behind the Books 40 
 
PAGE 
 
 Metric Genesis 41 
 
 Transformation 42 
 
 Edgar Allan Poe 43 
 
 Keats and Fanny B. 44 
 
 The Greatest of These Is Love 45 
 
 His Silent Flute 46 
 
 To a Poet Dying Young 47 
 
 Acknowledgment 48 
 
 The Western Gate 49 
 
Introduction 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 "God gave us our relatives; v^^e thank the Lord 
 He let us choose our friends," the modern 
 scoffer has it — indicating the deeper significance 
 in the spirtual relationship freely chosen. When, 
 however, to the deep bond of blood is added the 
 bond of friendship: when the fine spiritual re- 
 lationship crowns the family affection: then in- 
 deed is the union rare and wonderful. Such 
 was the love of Clifford and Sidney Lanier — the 
 love that found its finest literary expression in 
 the sonnets that follow. 
 
 In the Lanier brothers was the best blood of the 
 old Southland, developing to fine, chivalrous 
 manhood, touched with that tenderness that 
 crowns the man with the woman's refinement of 
 feeling and appreciation. Intimately together 
 in boyhood and early college days, they fought 
 through the splendid losing fight of the war, 
 much of the time in close association. Sidney 
 suffered captivity, while Clifford was ship- 
 wrecked, but fortunately escaped that period of 
 imprisonment, amid the horrors of Point Lookout 
 prison, that broke Sidney's health and perhaps 
 
 [9] 
 
caused his sadly early death. Devoted patriots, 
 keeping faith with their dear lost cause, the 
 brothers had in common that generosity of view 
 and magnanimity of spirit that made them ac- 
 cept the larger American ideals and cooperate in 
 building the New South that is part of the new 
 nation. 
 
 Younger by two years and only less gifted than 
 his marvelous brother, it seemed to Clifford, in 
 the bitter time of reconstruction, that his duty 
 was to put aside, as avocation, his longings for 
 a literary career, and accept the less attractive 
 sphere of business life. It was necessary for 
 some one of the family to shoulder the material 
 problem, and Clifford cheerfully accepted it, that 
 Sidney might have the fuller freedom. A letter 
 of their father to Clifford, under date of June 
 23rd, 1878, gives the situation of CUfford's life 
 at the age of thirty- four: 
 
 "What you say relative to the distinction other 
 men have won in the world brings to me an almost 
 painful sense of your sacrifices. I do indeed 
 daily think of you as a hero, who has had the 
 courage to repress aspirations for distinction, 
 
 [10] 
 
with the view of benefiting others. On the no- 
 tion that what could not be well helped must be 
 borne (for you and I have been environed with 
 circumstances hard to deal with) I have re- 
 luctantly acquiesced in your continued uncon- 
 genial vocation. But the fact of acquiescence 
 was only possible, first on the idea that you were 
 thereby rendering important aid to dependent 
 relatives, and, second, in the hope that every 
 succeeding year would somehow bring about a 
 change. ... I have not been without fear that 
 in the midst of your brave work you have had 
 moments of repining." 
 
 If there were moments of regret, the sacrifice 
 was made gladly and continued bravely. 
 Though Clifford might not wed the muse, she 
 remained a sister to him, and his output in the 
 avocation of letters was significant and worthy. 
 
 In Sidney Lanier's heroic struggles with ill- 
 health and material difficulties, there were many 
 times when he had to call for help to the brother 
 who stood behind his aspirations — calls so pa- 
 thetic as to bring tears to the eyes as one reads 
 them in the tender brother letters. To these ap- 
 
 [11] 
 
peals, made confidently, if reluctantly, the re- 
 sponse was always swift and glad. Thus some of 
 the laurel is due the one who helped make possi- 
 ble the full-crowned song. 
 
 When the material help was sent, it was trans- 
 figured, not only by the spirit in which it was 
 given, but by an accompanying sonnet, voicing, 
 beyond the power of prose, the brother love. It 
 is these sonnets, kept lovingly by SidneyLanier, 
 and valued highly by him as poetry as well as for 
 love's sake, that are here printed for the first 
 time, with two exceptions; one having appeared 
 in the Independent and one in the New York 
 Times, shortly after Clifford Lanier's death. 
 Sincere, direct, beautiful, and weighted with 
 thought, they have at times a Shakespearian 
 quality, reminding us of that unmatched cycle 
 of songs of friendship. Brief and few as these 
 sonnets are, it were a pity should they not live 
 for a larger circle, not only for beauty's sake, 
 but to strengthen our faith in love. 
 
 The lyrics following these sonnets are selected 
 from the little volume Apollo and Keats, pub- 
 lished privately in 1902. Chiefly personal in 
 
 [12] 
 
character, delicate in music, always sincere ex- 
 pression of thought and mood, they belong with 
 the sonnets as a memorial expressing the spirit 
 and character of one of nature's gentlemen, 
 generous, gifted, fine and true — Clifford Lanier. 
 Edward Howard Griggs. 
 
 [13] 
 
SONNETS TO SIDNEY LANIER 
 
Since corn hath "increment above, below;" 
 Extracteth Hfe from wind and s\in and rain, 
 Disdaining naught by which to germ and grow. 
 And yearning ever for its golden grain : 
 So canst thou never by the subtlest art 
 Discover whence its larger growth hath come; 
 To which, or root or stem or other part. 
 Its strength imparted is by all or some. 
 Thou canst not tell the aid it hath of each — 
 The glow of Heaven or Earth's warm-clasping 
 
 mould. 
 Then rest thee well content : thy gospel teach 
 In tuneful numbers worth far more than gold. 
 This doubtful merit is the meed I gain : 
 True poets grow by "help" of sun and rain. 
 
 (February 20, 1875. To thy call for help, received today.) 
 
 The editor is responsible for a few verbal or metrical correc- 
 tions in certain of the sonnets — changes in most instances indi- 
 cated by the author. 
 
 [17] 
 
II 
 
 My gentle tiller of right noble fields, 
 Thou tuneful shepherd of the oaten reed, 
 How far above the false capricious yields 
 Of swarthy delvers in the mines of greed 
 Is thy full gleaning of the poet's corn, 
 Thy shepherding of melodies divine. 
 Thy spiritual tilth, whereof is born 
 A harvest satisfying, rich, benign ! 
 What opulence of fickle treasured gold 
 Can with thy real gain its wealth compare ? 
 Foul noisome weeds doth that accursed mould. 
 Fair luscious maize doth tins soul's garden bear. 
 Then speed thy husbandry with Music's art — 
 Thou hast for garner all the world's great 
 heart ! 
 
 (March 16, 1875). 
 
 [18] 
 
Ill 
 
 Thou art not plagued with any cares of life — 
 
 Infesting worries of this earthly sense ; 
 
 For thou canst pipe to peace, contending strife, 
 
 And win the love of chafing malcontents 
 
 By wise, benignant largesse of thy song : 
 
 Thou makest of all foes thy vassals good. 
 
 If cares assail, intent to do thee wrong, 
 
 Thy spirit's powers, like armies in a wood, 
 
 Beat fine alarums of such melting tone, 
 
 And troop unto thy call in such array, 
 
 That ere they muster, all thy cares are gone. 
 
 Their stings, their weapons thrown in flight away. 
 
 No hate can with thee live, thou gracious King 
 
 Of harmony and high imagining! 
 
 (March 17, 1875.) 
 
 [19] 
 
IV 
 
 Since thou art King, and I thy subject Prince, 
 To do thee homage bound by love and pact, 
 I but the simplest loyalty evince 
 To pay thee dues of fancy and good act. 
 How can I ever render thee thy due? 
 What cannot counted be, cannot be paid. 
 Infinity, acquit by quittance true. 
 Is only by infinitude defrayed. 
 Thus friends in strangest enmity are met : 
 My loyalty and love forever strive. 
 This one to pay, that to increase the debt. 
 What one would kill, the other would revive : 
 But 'tis no war of Ghibelline and Guelph — 
 Each fain would aid his foe against himself. 
 
 [20] 
 
Thou magic breather of the silver flute, 
 Arion skillful of our later time — 
 Enchanting men by thy enchanted lute, 
 And driving to thy yoke of lusty rhyme 
 Wild sea-shapes strange and deepest mysteries, 
 In that all boundless ocean of thine art ; 
 Who, coming to thy called consistories, 
 Straight do thy bidding and espouse thy part ; 
 So that thou buoyest high upon the wave 
 To Havens sweet, in Fame's proud glories 
 
 drest — 
 Behold, already thy tamed coursers lave 
 Their shining figures in Fame's port of rest ; 
 And thou, wave-beaten bard, in kingly form. 
 Art promontoried high above all storm! 
 
 [21] 
 
VI 
 
 When in the blaze of honor-giving eyes 
 Thy fame hath raised thee to a dizzy height, 
 Wilt thou forget the sweet confederacies 
 That fill our past with such a tender light ? 
 Wilt thou erase from that full page, thy heart, 
 The careless copies childhood splotched thereon, 
 Or those that boyhood wrote with fairer art, 
 Or those unfading later lists, whereon 
 The perilous companionship of war 
 Inscribed its roll of brothers' courtesies — 
 Infractions of low self-defending law. 
 Sanctions of love and selfless chivalries? 
 
 All in my credit, thou art sure to set ; 
 
 All that's thy due, is all thou wilt forget. 
 
 [22] 
 
VII 
 
 Never can I forget one wintry night 
 Of seeming endless cold and weary march : 
 Thy soul panoplied, serene and bright, 
 As conquering hero through triumphal arch. 
 Walked resolute himself, and giving aid 
 To me who faltered on the trying way 
 And weak complaints continually made. 
 Thou, leader firm of thy brave soul's array, 
 Didst cheer my ever drooping forces on 
 With helpful arm and hopeful-ringing voice. 
 Till night despaired, and pgean-singing morn 
 At last bade nature and our souls rejoice. 
 Of helpful love, love's gratitude arises — 
 No night, no dark, and dawn hath no surprises 
 
 [23] 
 
VIII 
 
 Antonio. — His word is more than the miraculous harp. 
 Sebastian. — He hath raised the wall, and houses too. 
 
 — Shakespeare, The Tempest. 
 
 What wonder that thy voice is true of sound, 
 Its measures fitting there where deftly thrown; 
 For Music walls a Theban city round, 
 And thou art Master Architect of tone. 
 What wonder that thy music ravisheth, 
 When its own harmonies it doth rehearse ; 
 For then thine Art Creative lavisheth 
 On these the subtle spirits of thy verse. 
 Amphion, thus, thou art, of higher mould: 
 He rounds a mart ; thou dost a temple make 
 Wherein thou worshipest — thy penance told 
 With flute and song for dear Religion's sake. 
 
 In faithful verse thou tellest o'er thy creed ; 
 
 Thy life — all music — is a hymn in deed. 
 
 [24] 
 
OTHER LYRICS 
 
LOVE'S RESERVE 
 
 To Wilhelmein 
 
 To Her — my lovely and steadfast comrade — 
 whose approval has ever been my most welcome 
 laurel (Love's reserA^e yielding to the lures of 
 Art) I offer this volume. 
 
 The poet, raptured, gazing wifeward, said: 
 
 Thou art the self of Beauty to my sight; 
 
 Thy figure shapen is in lines of light 
 From dainty feet to glory-crowned head; 
 With perfect rhyme those lithe arms, upward 
 spread, 
 
 A pulsing couplet form in rhythm right; 
 
 And o'er thy bosom drape the vestments white. 
 Tender as words by music vestured. 
 If verse now had the graphic warmth of sun, 
 
 If Love could body what his heart would hide, 
 If thou wert less than wifely vestaled nun. 
 
 Dear love of thee might yield to Art's fond 
 pride, 
 
 And, dressed in poet's breath, these veils aside, 
 Thou should'st be wife and poem merged in one. 
 
 [27] 
 
HYMN TO THE GREAT ARTIST 
 
 Watery seas He folds in a vesture of cloud, 
 And the hearts of their shells He molds, 
 
 Till these utter their multiple music aloud, 
 And rapture of speech bursts the clod that He 
 holds. 
 
 For dumbness is not of the work of the Lord : 
 
 Star spaces and far feel the breath of His flute. 
 Day breathes to the night, night fugues all 
 abroad. 
 Where far-streaming star-beams are strings of 
 His lute. 
 
 [28] 
 
THE AMERICAN PHILOMEL 
 
 Ah sweet — our mocking bird, 
 
 The many-tongued ! 
 From highest top of yon church pinnacle, 
 Whose ghttering point thus quivers into song, 
 
 His voice! 
 The church's faith and love 
 
 Now seem to blossom in 
 Nor flower nor odor, but in sound. 
 Gone is the day, passed with its Sabbath forms: 
 The zeal of Sunday-school in children's eyes. 
 Blazing to kindle bright the farthest isles. 
 Now fades in children's dreams this summer 
 
 night. 
 And yields their fane to loveliness of song. 
 
 Balm-breathing harmony, 
 What tenderness is thine! 
 
 The air is all ethereal; 
 The moonlight, soft affection's sweetest smile ; 
 The fragrant trees are Beauty's ministers. 
 And dewy lawns lie tearfully adream. 
 
 [29] 
 
Sweet, bird-blown flute, 
 Thou weavest poesy and lore in one — 
 
 Religion, history and song, 
 
 Wild-flowers and wheat. 
 An Indian maiden with the heart of Ruth, 
 Withheld by tribal hate from joy and love. 
 
 And pining faithfully. 
 Might utter such a plaint as thine 
 
 Now is. Anon, 
 Some antique Miriam's triumph swells 
 In rising, crescent, cymbal-clashing notes, 
 Joyous, outringing as a peal of bells. 
 
 An alabaster box of Music's nard 
 Upon the feet of Love thou shatterest. 
 These drops of dew are fragrant with its sweet; 
 These pendent boughs seem blessing hands; 
 Out of grim shadow, benedictions come; 
 
 Moonlight like Christ's forgiveness beams : 
 Thy heavenly throatings whisper to the soul 
 
 Undying faith, supernal. 
 
 Love eternal. 
 
 [30] 
 
FOREST ELIXIRS 
 
 Inhaling strength with every breath 
 Soft blown across the mountain way, 
 
 I stroll where autumn's crimson death 
 And Summer's resurrection say 
 
 The annual rhyme of death and life. 
 
 Smooth winds the road o'er covert glade, 
 On upward slope, by varying strife, 
 
 For mastery, of light and shade. 
 
 Here greenery hath conquered all, 
 And dominates a world of love ; 
 
 Yon distant hill is mighty thrall 
 Of mastering blueness throned above. 
 
 'o 
 
 Here find I quiet rest I seek 
 
 Far from the turbulence of men, 
 
 And mildly importune the meek 
 Faun-voices of the Woodland glen. 
 
 Where think not that the woods are still ; 
 
 For whomso'er can overhear, 
 Each runlet speaketh, and each hill — 
 
 A music hid from carnal ear. 
 [31] 
 
The dumb rocks hint their history; 
 
 And myriad winged things float past, 
 With messages of mystery 
 
 Sent from the dim, leaf-shadowed vast. 
 
 All tender moss that steadfast clings 
 To warm the oak-root, mantle wise, 
 
 Some answer has to questionings. 
 Repose for restless subtleties. 
 
 If I would staunch an anguish sore 
 That contumely's thrust hath made. 
 
 Or into wounds mild healing pour, 
 Away from battle-fields of trade, 
 
 I walk amid these leafy balms — 
 Wood distillations magic breeds — 
 
 Upborne upon the upheld palms 
 Of elfin greenwood Ganymedes ; 
 
 And learn how thought is kin to prayer. 
 That grace, as juices from earth's sod, 
 
 Flows through the veins of spirit, where 
 Man's soul doth feel the touch of God. 
 
 [32] 
 
DEATH IN LIFE 
 
 'Tis eight o'clock in the morning, 
 The cukninating moon at west ; 
 
 A perfect day from its dawning, 
 As e'er maternal night expressed. 
 
 The soft wind blows with thrilling zest. 
 And all around, in earth and sky. 
 
 Blithe sunshine makes it manifest 
 God's thought to-day is ecstasy. 
 
 If wine expressed from heavenly fruit 
 Had winnowed through cloud-filters laced, 
 
 And had been miracled to suit 
 
 Some finer sense than mortal taste, 
 
 It might give life, as does this air — 
 Apollo's strings were not more tense ; 
 
 September murmurs everywhere 
 With thrills of faint-heard instruments, 
 
 As if the sounds of all past days. 
 Ascending through the scale of time. 
 
 Had lost all accents save of praise, 
 
 And reached the height of perfect rhyme. 
 
The mime-bird sings, outspreads his wings 
 On wavy curves from tree to tree; 
 
 Unruffling by his airy swings, 
 And by his carol's melody 
 
 The lake of grass or aught it holds. 
 
 Now close he whirs o'er yonder head: 
 Unsprings his foe — one stroke ! He folds 
 
 His wings — the lilting voice lies dead. 
 
 O crystal Source of perfect thought, 
 This comfort in my heart distil 
 
 From bleeding Nature, parable-fraught : 
 That death's not ill, but Wisdom's will ! 
 
 [34] 
 
WILHELMEIN 
 
 A Portrait 
 
 A PATIENT sadness in the lovely face 
 That melts to tenderness within the eyes, 
 Now dark, now bright, as in the dew-drop lies 
 A shadow brightening in a sunny place ; 
 
 Shy dimples in the cheeks that come and go 
 As laughter rises from the brimming heart; 
 Soft folds of lustrous hair; lips half apart 
 As if a kiss escaped and left them so ; 
 
 One fair hand thrown aside in careless gesture 
 To grasp the rose, down-fallen in her vesture — 
 The rose is passing sweet, yet lacks it grace 
 To keep me longer from that sweeter face. 
 
 [35] 
 
FIVE O'CLOCK TEA 
 
 (On Presenting a Tea Urn) 
 
 Life's haply come, my Dear, for you and me. 
 To just this stage of cozy afternoon tea; 
 We've tasted bhthe youth's many a fete, 
 'Tis sweeter now — the duo tete-a-tete. 
 
 If e'er the boiling urn was brewed too hot. 
 Love's soothing curd would cool the silvern pot; 
 Life tenders some its wine, unlike mine, thine, 
 Whose tenderness makes life a draught divine. 
 
 Infusing, steeping love in our lives. Dear, 
 Thy fellowship extends a daily cheer. 
 Spiceful as Orient leaf, thy sweetness lures 
 Like fruit of island bowers; thy charm endures. 
 
 May life continue. Sweet, for you and me. 
 
 One glorious chat o'er deep-drawn, fragrant tea! 
 
 [36] 
 
THE HAPPIEST 
 
 If now the Master of the feast should stand, 
 Seeking the happiest at Hfe's festal board, 
 
 To crown him King with garlands, and to hand 
 To him the joy-brimmed, silver, carven gourd 
 
 Of happiness to quaff — whose should it be? 
 
 His, rich in pleasures gathered from all parts 
 Of earth? Nay, nay, the happiest is he 
 
 Who garners joy from joys of others' hearts. 
 
 [37] 
 
TO MRS. VINNIE REAM HOXIE 
 
 On Leaving Montgomery, December 16, 1888 
 
 Fame, honor and remembrance live in time 
 For those who worthily have sung or wrought; 
 One name is chapleted with blooms of rhyme, 
 Another festooned o'er with braids of thought. 
 Essaying fame, the mailed soldier stamps 
 And prints an image rude of cruel deeds; 
 Forgiving Love forgets his frowning camps, 
 And writes in moss her loveliest creed of creeds. 
 To us you bind yourself with triple chain — 
 Sculptor, poet, above all else a friend. 
 Thus recollection strives to soothe our pain. 
 And would with tenderness our grief amend — 
 
 To all the world she speaks in shapes of Art; 
 
 For us she rhymes our souls with her own heart ! 
 
 [38] 
 
BENVENUTO CELLINI 
 
 Thou, sculptor, bravo, craftsman cunning, bold. 
 Musician, poet, man of many parts. 
 Thy time's most fei*vid lover of such arts 
 As body forth rare forms in bronze and gold ; 
 Epitome of them who leave the old. 
 And ever seek fresh ventures of new marts; 
 Born where the flowing Arno streams and darts. 
 To warm in sun his flower-dipped waters cold : 
 
 Thou art the type of bankrupt souls' sad loss. 
 Who come so close to fortune and true gain; 
 Like fallen angels shut from out Heaven's gate 
 They miss Elysium by a coin's toss. 
 And glory, straitly missed, redoubles pain: 
 Thine art, Christ-touched, had been immaculate! 
 
 [39] 
 
THE MEN BEHIND THE BOOKS 
 
 From cabined walls of close-ranged, dusty 
 
 shelves, 
 Whereon the effigies of great thoughts are 
 In print, mine inner sense would break the bar 
 And find the treasury of their inmost selves — 
 Shakspeare's, while visioning midsummer elves 
 With queen Titania in her wee nut car; 
 With dreaming poets range from star to star, 
 Or plunge in caverns plumbing science delves : 
 
 To gaze beyond this pale on Keats' dear soul — 
 Endymion 'mong the stars of Beauty's sky; 
 On Milton's, hearing heavenly battles roll; 
 Through Wordsworth's, know each tender flow- 
 eret's eye: 
 With humble workers, study moss and clod. 
 And with brave singers, feel the breath of God. 
 
 [40] 
 
METRIC GENESIS 
 
 The poet brings not something out of naught : 
 He breathes into a dream: Lo! — Adam — 
 Thought! 
 
 Dumb lonesome thought for want of music weeps, 
 And rhythm — Eve — discloses as he sleeps. 
 
 Whence God does set his seal upon the pair — 
 Speech, Eden is, with Eve and Adam there. 
 
 [41] 
 
TRANSFORMATION 
 
 The humblest life that lives may be divine: 
 Christ changed the common water into wine. 
 Star-like comes Love from out the magic East, 
 And Life, an-hungered, finds his fast a feast. 
 
 [42] 
 
EDGAR ALLAN POE 
 
 Dreaming along the haunted shore of time, 
 And mad that sea's iEolian song to sing, 
 He found the shell of beauty — rhythmic rhyme- 
 And fondly deemed its sheen a living thing. 
 
 [43] 
 
KEATS AND FANNY B 
 
 A STAR beheld an image in a spring — 
 His own beams robed in heavenly vesturing. 
 Out-burned his fire and faded from the sky: 
 The clear earth-rill purled on indifferently. 
 
 [W\l 
 
THE GREATEST OF THESE IS LOVE 
 
 We know not the very heart of the lute; 
 We only hear the beat of music's wings — 
 The garment's rustle as it shaping clings 
 About the bodied soul — whether low flute 
 Or trumpet's large, world-full, resounding bruit 
 That summons to enchant the state of kings. 
 We hear the organ's far-drawn murmurings, 
 But from the holiest Holy all is mute: 
 
 Maybe we host an angel unaware. 
 We cherish knowledge, tongues and prophecies, 
 Forgetful how these vanish into air, 
 Whereof they frame their winning mysteries. 
 
 Love, love alone, in music, life and art, 
 Remains the angelic friend-guest of the heart. 
 
 [&^] 
 
HIS SILENT FLUTE 
 
 To Sidney Lanier, 1881 
 
 Each life is tinct with joyousness and pain: 
 
 A web of measured silences and sound, 
 
 In subtle plan of patterns deftly wound; 
 
 And with a heart of love, is Music. Rain, 
 
 Sunshine, are tides of one wavering Main, 
 
 Whose throbbing bears the prow of life to port. 
 
 E'en on the parapet of Hatred's fort, 
 
 Some bruised violet of love will fain 
 
 Its banner wave for Brotherhood and God. 
 
 Such alternates do fleck the whole vast round — 
 
 A star, a comet, lost, is a planet found. 
 
 This comfort would I take from star and clod — 
 
 I hear it murmuring from his silent flute : 
 
 Death is not death, but life that's briefly mute. 
 
 [46] 
 
TO A POET DYING YOUNG 
 
 Sidney Lanier 
 
 Much like some mountain-springing crystal rill, 
 Or burgeoning of trees that bravely climb 
 The sunniest crag of all ; now like the mime 
 Of mock-bird trilling gaily, then death-still, 
 As if his mate-bird's answer hushed his trill, 
 Or some god whispered in his ear, " 'Tis time 
 For holy meditation," — so thy rhyme 
 Did falter, seeking beauty and love's will. 
 
 Too short, ah, sadly short, thy days for song, 
 For work, for prayer, for far-envoyaging 
 
 thought ! 
 Ah me ! no time nor strength for righting wrong. 
 Thy soul well knew man's apathj^ had wrought. 
 Thou couldst but trill, as thou didst limp along, 
 High hints of music's heaven, thy soul had 
 
 caught. 
 
 [47] 
 
ACKNOWLEDGMENT 
 
 To All Who Love Sidney Lanier 
 
 As in one planet-mocking globe of dew 
 May lucent glow the full-spanned arc of blue: 
 
 Since one clear stroke of Time's star-guiding 
 
 bell 
 Unending happiness or woe may tell: 
 
 Since came a world of light from just one word 
 Of God, and all the stars of morning heard: 
 
 Then let one murmured word from me express 
 A fervent round of grateful tenderness. 
 
 [48] 
 
THE WESTERN GATE 
 
 Gold in the morn; silver shine at noon; 
 
 Gold after noon; 'tis twilight now. 
 Dusk wanes the day; old voices croon; 
 And pales the aureole on age's brow. 
 Fitful, the flame upon the cottage fire 
 Burns like the heart of chill desire. 
 The hmbs, with ache, like worn-out timbers 
 
 creak ; 
 And scarce the smoke may climb the chimney 
 
 peak. 
 Dim sounds of uproar that the Present makes 
 Come through the window; Memory fonder 
 
 shakes 
 Old sides to laughter and old hearts to tears. 
 All brave dehghts of youth give way to fears. 
 Grandchildren romp not with the glee of yore. 
 A sadness never felt before 
 Creeps in the mind. The hand clasps not as 
 
 strong. 
 New songs sing not as that old song — 
 Clear with the truth 
 Of candid youth, 
 And sweet forsooth 
 [49] 
 
As the limpid, twinkling sheen of the Romance 
 
 well, 
 Or sweetheart-gospels lovers tell. 
 As truest chime of the marriage bell, 
 As loveliest child-bloom ever fell 
 
 From gardens where home-blisses grow 
 And joys of heaven with angels dwell 
 
 And Love's uncankered roses blow. 
 
 Cometh now life's afterglow: 
 
 O'er yonder sun the clouds drift slow. 
 Like sleepy birds that seek the nest, 
 On drowsy-moving wings almost at rest — 
 So smooth their flight into yon darkling West. 
 
 Gold in the morn; silver shine at noon; 
 Gold after noon; new soft lights beam, 
 Whereof the heart of youth may merely dream : 
 Pearl, amber, lucent sard are in yon gleam. 
 In circles ever moveth life around, 
 Without decline ; eve puts no term nor bound ; 
 Age at old portals is await 
 For that new scene beyond the gate. 
 This little grain of life was sweet : how grand 
 The planetary round of God's new landl 
 
 [50] 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
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