HEALED of my hurt, I laud the inhuman Sea

Not magnitude, not lavishness, But Form—the Site; Not innovating wilfulness, But reverence for the Archetype.

The Ancient of Days forever is young,  Forever the scheme of Nature thrives; I know a wind in purpose strong--  It spins _against_ the way it drives. What if the gulfs their slimed foundations bare?

Found a family, build a state, The pledged event is still the same: Matter in end will never His ancient brutal claim.

The cavalry-camp lies on the slope Of what was late a vernal hill, But now like a pavement bare—An outpost in the perilous wilds Which ever are lone and still; But Mosby's men are there — Of Mosby best beware. Great trees the troopers…

The grass shall never forget this grave. When homeward footing it in the After the weary ride by rail, The stripling soldiers passed her door

Happy are they and charmed in life  Who through long wars arrive At peace. To such the wreath be given, If they unfalteringly have striven —  In honor, as in limb, unmarred.

About the Shark, phlegmatical one, Pale sot of the Maldive sea, The sleek little pilot-fish, azure and slim, How alert in attendance be.

"Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him"Shall hearts that beat no base In youth's magnanimous years - Ignoble hold it, if When interest tames to fears; Shall spirits that worship