English

All that's bright must fade,—
The brightest still the fleetest;
All that's sweet was made,
But to be lost when sweetest.
Stars that shine and fall;—
The flower that drops in springing;—
These, alas! are types of all
To which our hearts are clinging.
All that's bright must fade,—
The brightest still the fleetest;
All that's sweet was made
But to be lost when sweetest!

Who would seek our prize
Delights that end in aching?
Who would trust to ties
That every hour are breaking?

" Are you ready, O Virginia,
Alabama, Tennessee?
People of the Southland, answer!
For the land hath need of thee. "
" Here! " from sandy Rio Grande.
Where the Texan horsemen ride;
" Here! " the hunters of Kentucky
Hail from Chatterawah's side;
Every toiler in the cotton,
Every rugged mountaineer,
Velvet-voiced and iron-handed,
Lifts his head to answer, " Here!
Some remain who charged with Pickett,
Some survive who followed Lee;
They shall lead their sons to battle

Are you asking where I'm going with these sad faces
and the bubbling of wounded veins on my forehead?

I'm going to cast roses into the sea,
to vanish under waves higher than the birds,
to pull out roads that by now had burrowed through me like roots ...

I'm going to give up stars,
and dews,
and the brief rivulets where I loved the passion that ravaged my mountains,
and a special cooing
of doves,
and words

I am going to remain alone, without songs or skin,
like the inside of a tunnel,

A RE YOU ALMOST DISGUSTED with life, little man?
I'll tell you a wonderful trick
That will bring you contentment, if anything can,
Do something for somebody, quick!

Are you awfully tired with play, little girl?
Wearied, discouraged, and sick —
I'll tell you the loveliest game in the world,
Do something for somebody, quick!

Though it rains, like the rain of the flood, little man,
And the clouds are forbidding and thick,
You can make the sun shine in your soul, little man,
Do something for somebody, quick!

Are you a glass of milk, rich and cold?
Or a stream flowing with mother of pearl?

Or a white ripple of the twilight time
Sweetly crossing the face of night?

Or a jar, colored and dewy
A honey jar for all who are hungry?

Or are you a cheek of fragrant lilies
Dozing over grass and fallen leaves?

Or are you silver, lightlike and supple?
Ah, the glow of my old enchantment!

What are you? A vessel of light
A blending of stars out of the dark

Oh, kiss of lilies pouring out clear

Are these the pope's grand tools?
Worshipful noddies! Who but blund'ring fools
 Would ever have forgot
To burn those letters that revealed their plot?
Or in an alehouse told that Godfrey's dead
Three days before he was discovered;
Leaving the silly world to call to mind
That common logic, They that hide can find?
 But see their master policy
  On Primrose Hill,
 Where their great enemy
 Like Saul upon Mount Gilboa doth lie,
Fall'n on his sword, as if he himself did kill.
 But oh, the infelicity!

Are these the honors they reserve for me,
Chains for the man who gave new worlds to Spain!
Rest here, my swelling heart! — O kings, O queens,
Patrons of monsters, and their progeny,
Authors of wrong, and slaves to fortune merely!
Why was I seated by my prince's side,
Honor'd, caress'd like some first peer of Spain?
Was it that I might fall most suddenly
From honor's summit to the sink of scandal?
'T is done, 't is done! — what madness is ambition!
What is there in that little breath of men,

On the Tombs in Westminster Abbey
Mortality, behold, and fear,
What a change of flesh is here!
Think how many royal bones
Sleep within this heap of stones,
Hence removed from beds of ease,
Dainty fare, and what might please,
Fretted roofs, and costly shows,
To a roof that flats the nose:
Which proclaims all flesh is grass;
How the world's fair glories pass;
That there is no trust in health,
In youth, in age, in greatness, wealth;
For if such could have reprieved

. . . " are the horns of the hall on fire? "
Then Hnaef made answer, the battle-young king:
" This is no dawn from the East, nor flying dragon,
Nor fire burning the horns of this hall,
But men in armor; the eagle shall scream,
The gray wolf howl and the war-wood whistle,
Shield answer shaft. Now shines the moon
Through scudding cloud. Dire deeds are come
Bringing hard battle and bitter strife.
Awake, my warriors, seize your shields;
Fight like men in the front of battle;
Be bold of mood, be mindful of valor! "

Are all such off'rings, as are crusht, and bruis'd,
Forbid thy altar? may they not be us'd?
And must all broken things be set apart?
No, Lord: Thou wilt accept a broken heart.