I stood within the gate
Of a great temple, 'mid the living stream
Of worshippers that thronged its regal state
Fair-pictured in my dream.

Jewels and gold were there;
And floors of marble lent a crystal sheen
To body forth, as in a lower air,
The wonders of the scene.

Such wild and lavish grace
Had whispers in it of a coming doom;
As richest flowers lie strown about the face
Of her that waits the tomb.

The wisest of the land
Had gathered there, three solemn trysting-days,
For high debate: men stood on either hand

The seeds of Treason choake up as they spring,
He Acts the Crime, that gives it Cherishing.

Proudest pearl of the wide world,
Haughtier than an Inca's plume,
You and I, near this Biloxi,
Long were laid in a shell tomb.
There we slept like white blind kittens
Curled in a warm kitchen box,
While the friendly fist of the sea
On our roof made humorous knocks
Without breaking the shell box.

Grandest pearl of the whole world,
And so vain you are twice dear,
Kin to dragon flies and dragons,
Kin to larks and kin to larkspurs,
Kin to gold and white snapdragons
And hot bees that drink such flagons

Three little maidens weary of the rail,
Three pairs of little ears listening to a tale,
Three little hands held out in readiness,
For three little puzzles very hard to guess.
Three pairs of little eyes, open wonder-wide,
At three little scissors lying side by side.
Three little mouths that thanked an unknown Friend,
For one little book, he undertook to send.
Though whether they'll remember a friend, or book, or day—
In three little weeks is very hard to say.

In fairyland the little boys
Would rather fight than eat their meals.
They like to chase a gauze-winged fly
And catch and beat him till he squeals.
Sometimes they come to sleeping men
Armed with the deadly red-rose thorn,
And those that feel its fearful wound
Repent the day that they were born.

“Now I've said all I would, mother;
My head is on thy breast,
And I feel I can die without a sigh,
And sink into my rest.

“And if ever you weep o'er my grave, mother,
Weep not for doubt or sadness;
I shall fall asleep in pain and in grief,
But wake to perfect gladness.”

Mourn not, thou mother of the dead,
That in her youth she died;
for He was with her then Who said:
“Ye that in me abide,
Ask what ye will, it shall be given;
Faith, hope, and love on earth, and Love and Joy in Heaven.”

All things on earth and sea,
All that the white stars see,
Turns about you and me.

And where we two are not,
Is darkness like a blot
And life and love forgot.

But when we pass that way,
The night breaks into day,
The year breaks into May.

The earth through all her bowers
Carols and breathes and flowers
About this love of ours.

I am a hunchback, yellow faced,—
A hateful sight to see,—
'Tis all that other men can do
To pass and let me be.

I am a woman,—my hair is white—
I was a drunkard's lass;
The gin dances in my head,—
I stumble as I pass.

I am a man that God made at first,
And teachers tried to harm;
Here hunchback, take my friendly hand,—
Good woman, take my arm.

Gentle, gentle river
Hurrying along
With a sparkle ever,
And a murmured song,
Pause in thine onward motion,
Fast flowing toward the ocean,
And give this rose from me
To haughty Coralie.

Tell her that love's symbol,
The deep blushing rose,
Doth in all resemble
That it would disclose.
Untended, shortly thriving
There'll soon be no reviving;
But nursed with kindliness
'T will cheer life's wilderness.

Not our good luck nor the instant peak and fulfillment of time gives us to see
The beauty of things, nothing can bridle it.
God who walks lightning-naked on the Pacific has never been hidden from any
Puddle or hillock of the earth behind us.
Between the mean mud tenements and huddle of the filth of Babylon the river Euphrates;
And over the tiled brick temple buttresses
And the folly of a garden on arches, the ancienter simple and silent tribe of the stars
Filed, and for all her gods and the priests mouths