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And now, howe’er its waves above May toss and seem uneaseful, One strong, eternal law of Love, With guidance sure and peaceful, As calm and natural as breath, Moves its great deeps through life and death.

So was my soul; but when ’twas full Of unrest to o’erloading, A voice of something beautiful Whispered a dim foreboding, And yet so soft, so sweet, so low, It had not more of joy than woe; And, as the sea doth oft lie still, Making its waters meet, As if by an unconscious will, For the moon’s silver feet, So lay my soul within mine eyes When thou, its guardian moon, didst rise.

The following sections, if they exist, are offprint from Beacham's Encyclopedia of Popular Fiction: "Social Concerns", "Thematic Overview", "Techniques", "Literary Precedents", "Key Questions", "Related Titles", "Adaptations", "Related Web Sites". The following sections, if they exist, are offprint from Beacham's Guide to Literature for Young Adults: "About the Author", "Overview", "Setting", "Literary Qualities", "Social Sensitivity", "Topics for Discussion", "Ideas for Reports and Papers". All other sections in this Literature Study Guide are owned and copyrighted by Book Rags, Inc. Allegra the fountain ode the fatherland the forlorn midnight A prayer the heritage the rose: A ballad song, ‘violet! ’ Rosaline A requiem A parable song, ‘O moonlight deep and tender’ Sonnets. And still his deathless words of light are swimming Serene throughout the great deep infinite Of human soul, unwaning and undimming, To cheer and guide the mariner at night.

Threnodia the sirens Irene serenade with A pressed flower the beggar my love summer storm love to Perdita, singing the moon remembered music song. But now the Poet is an empty rhymer Who lies with idle elbow on the grass, And fits his singing, like a cunning timer, To all men’s prides and fancies as they pass. Shiver the mists that hide thy starry lyre, 70 And let man’s soul be yet again beholden To thee for wings to soar to her desire.

Peace sits within thine eyes, With white hands crossed in joyful rest, 50 While, through thy lips and face, arise The melodies from out thy breast; She sits and sings, With folded wings And white arms crost, ’Weep not for bygone things, They are not lost: The beauty which the summer time O’er thine opening spirit shed, The forest oracles sublime 60 That filled thy soul with joyous dread, The scent of every smallest flower That made thy heart sweet for an hour, Yea, every holy influence, Flowing to thee, thou knewest not whence, In thine eyes to-day is seen, Fresh as it hath ever been; Promptings of Nature, beckonings sweet, Whatever led thy childish feet, Still will linger unawares 70 The guiders of thy silver hairs; Every look and every word Which thou givest forth to-day, Tell of the singing of the bird Whose music stilled thy boyish play.’ Thy voice is like a fountain, Twinkling up in sharp starlight, When the moon behind the mountain Dims the low East with faintest white, Ever darkling, 80 Ever sparkling, We know not if ’tis dark or bright; But, when the great moon hath rolled round, And, sudden-slow, its solemn power Grows from behind its black, clear-edged bound, No spot of dark the fountain keepeth, But, swift as opening eyelids, leapeth Into a waving silver flower. Before the moon was made, Moaning in vague immensity, Of its own strength afraid, Unresful and unstaid. To know the heart of all things was his duty, All things did sing to him to make him wise, And, with a sorrowful and conquering beauty, The soul of all looked grandly from his eyes. He did not sigh o’er heroes dead and buried, Chief-mourner at the Golden Age’s hearse, 10 Nor deem that souls whom Charon grim had ferried Alone were fitting themes of epic verse: He could believe the promise of to-morrow, And feel the wondrous meaning of to-day; He had a deeper faith in holy sorrow Than the world’s seeming loss could take away. Or in low murmurs they began, Rising and rising momently, As o’er a harp AEolian A fitful breeze, until they ran Up to a sudden ecstasy. A lily thou wast when I saw thee first, A lily-bud not opened quite, That hourly grew more pure and white, By morning, and noontide, and evening nursed: In all of nature thou hadst thy share; Thou wast waited on By the wind and sun; The rain and the dew for thee took care; It seemed thou never couldst be more fair. A FRAGMENT Thick-rushing, like an ocean vast Of bisons the far prairie shaking, The notes crowd heavily and fast As surfs, one plunging while the last Draws seaward from its foamy breaking.

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