But that wild thought. Was not she my dearest, best — fit sacrifice. If I give her now to God, my pearl of price,.
Then I looked up at the crucifix above —. Holier than the holiest love that e'er the earth. Yet God gave His Son — O mystery that sleeps. Yield you, bend your will to His will; who obeys,. If you yield you as the helpless knife obeys. Back for that, — that last look.
Irish Sea Mossing in Scituate Mass: Knee deep in Seaweed The Final Chapter [Mr. Hawk Hickok Hickman] on qekohoqicucy.tk *FREE* shipping on. Editorial Reviews. About the Author. Hawk Hickok Hickman was born in Chatham Irish Sea Mossing in Scituate Mass Knee Deep in Seaweed.
Ite, missa est. The ruins of my heart. Ghosts of dead loves at night. Inhabit not my soul,. In this group of earlier poems is the earliest printed work of Richard Hovey. They, with others, were printed by the author and a boy friend who had a toy printing press, in Washington in I press my lips to her lips. And, when the night has fallen,. Sweet-voiced are the bards of our tongue,. Faint as the dying notes of a lute. It came like the subtile half-unguessed. And across my soul came the dream of the scent. And the dream-scent seemed in a strange dim way. Beauty in yonder rugged rocks,. Stern beauty in the kingly storm,.
The violet sunlight on the shoal! Love's way with the sea-mew;. Flash on, flash on and exult! There's a true hymn hid in your glee! O sea-mew! Which well to quench thirst from, when each holds cool, sweet drink. The chains of your slaves are stronger. And you — will you dare revile them,. Ye are snug and sedate in your churches. Ye marry and are given in marriage. You send your priests to our alleys. We have stifled our anger and stirred not,. The new age is come with its sin and its shame,. Canaille scoffing at Honor, Chivalry, Loyalty, Faith, —.
They call the Ideal a phantom, and each thought of their hearts is a wraith;. Oh, he's a wise, broad thinker, your man of the period;. No need of props to support the new marvelous column he rears. Bah, your liberal's ever worst bigot, your broad man the narrowest ass,. Your Free Thought the true captive beating 'gainst barriers it never can pass. Call me slave of old thoughts and old systems, sunk deep in the Old World mire! So the world thinks, that thinks you the freeman — but the world is a pitiful liar.
That's where the evil begins—in the theories that beguile. Be sure, where a gentleman soils his patent-leathers, it's luck. If the clown that follows him doesn't plunge heels over head in the muck. Sneer at the ancients, fools, — but you'll never be half as great. Do you think the millennium will come when your stable boys study quadratics? Educate, educate, educate! A little toy Heaven — if learned; or deemed, if the truth you would speak,. Teach them and then they will rise, you say. Call it so; but to what?
To the whirl and the bustle and greed of the life of the shop and the street —. To the filth of political intrigue, the statecraft of trickster and cheat —. To the knowledge of murderous means that are safer than pistol and knife —. To the discord that springs from a false note struck in the music of life.
They who lay moored in the calm, by new blasts to the tempest are wrenched. What can you teach, after all? Mere scraps from the Public School,. Even God's providence useless — a child's help — they need it no more,. Mix them together, the children, so caste dies, democracy lives;.
But what will you breed but mongrels, cross between gentles and thieves? And into the pure white souls of your high-born children shall thrust,. Will ye pull down God's wrath on New Sodom? Will ye build up a New Babel again? Oh, many an untaught peasant, far from the school and the mart,. Is far higher and nobler and better and wiser — worth more for life's work,. Than your gutter-sprung smatter-taught bullies that misrule and plunder New York.
Behind the times? It's an easy cry. Be it so, if you will;. Did you live in the days of Nero, had you cared to keep up with the times? The world will awake some day; I know it, for God is great. It will all come right in the end; — God forbid that I doubt! Ah, more, our queen in heaven! O thou wise Lady, whose illumined eyes. Not only unto thee that prince of yore,.
Now night and twilight for thine eyes are ended. O thou who sittest ever at her feet. Grant us thine aid that, as our footsteps wander. The following ten songs have been collected from notebooks, and found to be so much liked by lovers of Maeterlinck that it seems best to include them here. She waited all the summer days,. She waited all the winter days,. It sought it out, it found it out,. A passer passed again one night,. He thought it was a symbol fey,. And if he ask me yet again,.
And if he asks me where you are,. And if he ask me why the hall. And if he should ask me, then,. The first heart was full of happiness:. The second heart was full of gentleness:. The third heart was full of wretchedness:. The eyes are wide at noon. They greeted life with mirth. Climbed the tower-stair.
With my lamp alight. And at the first door. At the second door.
And at the third door. They lit their seven lamps and sought;. They came unto the sounding vaults. They saw the ocean through the chinks,. But when he returned.
And I have seen Death. The morrows will open wide the doors,. Thirty years I walked, my sisters,.
Bitter is the hour, O my sisters,. You are but sixteen, O my sisters,.
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