The Palm And The Pine
In the far North stands a Pine-tree, lone,
Upon a wintry height;
It sleeps: around it snows have thrown A covering of white
It dreams forever of a Palm That, far i' the Morning-land,
In the far North stands a Pine-tree, lone,
Upon a wintry height;
It sleeps: around it snows have thrown A covering of white
It dreams forever of a Palm That, far i' the Morning-land,
Life swelleth in a whitening wave,
And dasheth thee and me apart
I sweep out seaward: — be thou brave
And reach the shore,
"So pulse, and pulse, thou rhythmic-hearted Noon That liest, large-limbed, curved along the hills,
In languid palpitation, half a-swoon With ardors and sun-loves and subtle thrills;"Throb,
Beautiful
while the fervent hours...
"O Trade
O Trade
would thou wert dead
The Time needs heart — 'tis tired of head:
Heartsome Ireland, winsome Ireland,
Charmer of the sun and sea,
Bright beguiler of old anguish,
How could Famine frown on thee
The innocent, sweet Day is dead
Dark Night hath slain her in her bed
O,
Moors are as fierce to kill as to wed
Oft seems the Time a market-town Where many merchant-spirits meet Who up and down and up and down Cry out along the street Their needs, as wares; one
US, one SO: Till all the ways are full of sound: — But still come rain, and sun, and snow, A...
In the South lies a lonesome, hungry Land;
He huddles his rags with a cripple's hand;
He mutters, prone on the barren sand, What time his heart is breaking
He lifts his bare head from the ground;
That air same Jones, which lived in Jones, He had this pint about him:
He'd swear with a hundred sighs and groans,
That farmers
ST stop gittin' loans, And git along without 'em:
O marriage-bells, your clamor tells Two weddings in one breath
HE marries whom her love compels: — And I wed Goodman Death
My brain is blank, my tears are red;
Listen,
Land of the willful gospel, thou worst and thou best;
Tall Adam of lands, new-made of the dust of the West;
Thou wroughtest alone in the Garden of God,
Till He fashioned lithe Freedom to lie for thine Eve on thy breast — Till out of...
My soul is like the oar that momently Dies in a desperate stress beneath the wave,
Then glitters out again and sweeps the sea:
Each second I'm new-born from some new grave