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The wind will moan； the leaves will whisper some
Whisper of her； and strike you as they fall；
But go； and if you trust her she will call。
Go to the western gate； Luke Havergal
Luke Havergal。
No； there is not a dawn in eastern skies
To rift the fiery night that's in your eyes；
But there； where western glooms are gathering；
The dark will end the dark； if anything：
God slays Himself with every leaf that flies；
And hell is more than half of paradise。
No； there is not a dawn in eastern skies
In eastern skies。
Out of a grave I come to tell you this；
Out of a grave I come to quench the kiss
That flames upon your forehead with a glow
That blinds you to the way that you must go。
Yes； there is yet one way to where she is；
Bitter； but one that faith can never miss。
Out of a grave I come to tell you this
To tell you this。
There is the western gate； Luke Havergal；
There are the crimson leaves upon the wall。
Go； for the winds are tearing them away；
Nor think to riddle the dead words they say；
Nor any more to feel them as they fall；
But go！ and if you trust her she will call。
There is the western gate； Luke Havergal
Luke Havergal。
The House on the Hill
They are all gone away；
The House is shut and still；
There is nothing more to say。
Through broken walls and gray
The winds blow bleak and shrill：
They are all gone away。
Nor is there one to…day
To speak them good or ill：
There is nothing more to say。
Why is it then we stray
Around that sunken sill？
They are all gone away；
And our poor fancy…play
For them is wasted skill：
There is nothing more to say。
There is ruin and decay
In the House on the Hill：
They are all gone away；
There is nothing more to say。
Richard Cory
Whenever Richard Cory went down town；
We people on the pavement looked at him：
He was a gentleman from sole to crown；
Clean favored； and imperially slim。
And he was always quietly arrayed；
And he was always human when he talked；
But still he fluttered pulses when he said；
〃Good…morning；〃 and he glittered when he walked。
And he was rich； yes； richer than a king；
And admirably schooled in every grace：
In fine； we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place。
So on we worked； and waited for the light；
And went without the meat； and cursed the bread；
And Richard Cory； one calm summer night；
Went home and put a bullet through his head。
Two Octaves
I
Not by the grief that stuns and overwhelms
All outward recognition of revealed
And righteous omnipresence are the days
Of most of us affrighted and diseased；
But rather by the common snarls of life
That come to test us and to strengthen us
In this the prentice…age of discontent；
Rebelliousness； faint…heartedness； and shame。
II
When through hot fog the fulgid sun looks down
Upon a stagnant earth where listless men
Laboriously dawdle； curse； and sweat；
Disqualified； unsatisfied； inert；
It seems to me somehow that God himself
Scans with a close reproach what I have done；
Counts with an unphrased patience my arrears；
And fathoms my unprofitable thoughts。
Calvary
Friendless and faint； with martyred steps and slow；
Faint for the flesh； but for the spirit free；
Stung by the mob that came to see the show；
The Master toiled along to Calvary；
We gibed him； as he went； with houndish glee；
Till his dimmed eyes for us did overflow；
We cursed his vengeless hands thrice wretchedly；
And this was nineteen hundred years ago。
But after nineteen hundred years the shame
Still clings； and we have not made good the loss
That outraged faith has entered in his name。
Ah； when shall come love's courage to be strong！
Tell me； O Lord tell me； O Lord； how long
Are we to keep Christ writhing on the cross！
Dear Friends
Dear friends； reproach me not for what I do；
Nor counsel me； nor pity me； nor say
That I am wearing half my life away
For bubble…work that only fools pursue。
And if my bubbles be too small for you；
Blow bigger then your own： the games we play
To fill the frittered minutes of a day；
Good glasses are to read the spirit through。
And whoso reads may get him some shrewd skill；
And some unprofitable scorn resign；
To praise the very thing that he deplores；
So； friends （dear friends）； remember； if you will；
The shame I win for singing is all mine；
The gold I miss for dreaming is all yours。
The Story of the Ashes and the Flame
No matter why； nor whence； nor when she came；
There was her place。 No matter what men said；
No matter what she was； living or dead；
Faithful or not； he loved her all the same。
The story was as old as human shame；
But ever since that lonely night she fled；
With books to blind him； he had only read
The story of the ashes and the flame。
There she was always coming pretty soon
To fool him back； with penitent scared eyes
That had in them the laughter of the moon
For baffled lovers； and to make him think
Before she gave him time enough to wink
Sin's kisses were the keys to Paradise。
For Some Poems by Matthew Arnold
Sweeping the chords of Hellas with firm hand；
He wakes lost echoes from song's classic shore；
And brings their crystal cadence back once more
To touch the clouds and sorrows of a land
Where God's truth； cramped and fettered with a band
Of iron creeds； he cheers with golden lore
Of heroes and the men that long before
Wrought the romance of ages yet unscanned。
Still does a cry through sad Valhalla go
For Balder； pierced with Lok's unhappy spray
For Balder； all but spared by Frea's charms；
And still does art's imperial vista show；
On the hushed sands of Oxus； far away；
Young Sohrab dying in his father's arms。
Amaryllis
Once； when I wandered in the woods alone；
An old man tottered up to me and said；
〃Come； friend； and see the grave that I have made
For Amaryllis。〃 There was in the tone
Of his complaint such quaver and such moan
That I took pity on him and obeyed；
And long stood looking where his hands had laid
An ancient woman； shrunk to skin and bone。
Far out beyond the forest I could hear
The calling of loud progress； and the bold
Incessant scream of commerce ringing clear；
But though the trumpets of the world were glad；
It made me lonely and it made me sad
To think that Amaryllis had grown old。
Kosmos
Ah； shuddering men that falter and shrink so
To look on death； what were the days we live；
Where life is half a struggle to forgive；
But for the love that finds us when we go？
Is God a jester？ Does he laugh and throw
Poor branded wretches here to sweat and stri