Classic Poem

I

AT HOME

The rain is sobbing on the wold:
The house is dark, the hearth is cold;
And, stretching drear and ashy gray
Beyond the cedars, lies the bay.

The winds are moaning, as they pass
Through tangled knots of autumn grass, —
A weary, dreary sound of woe,
As if all joy were dead below.

I sit alone, I wait in vain
Some voice to lull this nameless pain;
But from my neighbor's cottage near
Come sounds of happy household cheer.

My neighbor at his window stands,
His youngest baby in his hands;
The others seek his tender kiss,
And one sweet woman crowns his bliss.

I look upon the rainy wild:
I have no wife, I have no child:
There is no fire upon my hearth,
And none to love me on the earth.

II

THE NEIGHBOR

How cool and wet the lowlands lie
Beneath the cloaked and wooded sky!
How softly beats the welcome rain
Against the plashy window-pane!

There is no sail upon the bay:
We cannot go abroad to-day,
But, darlings, come and take my hand,
And hear a tale of Fairy-land.

The baby's little head shall rest
In quiet on his father's breast,
And mother, if he chance to stir,
Shall sing him songs once sung to her.

Ah, little ones, ye do not fret
Because the garden grass is wet;
Ye love the rains, whene'er they come,
That all day keep your father home.

No fish to-day the net shall yield;
The happy oxen graze afield;
The thirsty corn will drink its fill,
And louder sing the woodland rill.

Then, darlings, nestle round the hearth;
Ye are the sunshine of the earth:
Your tender eyes so fondly shine,
They bring a welcome rain to mine.

III

UNDER THE STARS

How the not revel's fever dies,
Beneath the stillness of the skies!
How suddenly the whirl and glare
Shoot far away, and this cold air
Its icy beverage brings, to chase
The burning wine-flush from my face!
The window's gleam still faintly falls,
And music sounds at intervals,
Jarring the pulses of the night
With whispers of profane delight;
But on the midnight's awful strand,
Like some wrecked swimmer flung to land,
I lie, and hear those breakers roar:
And smile — they cannot harm me more!

Keep, keep your lamps; they do not mar
The silver of a single star.
The painted roses you display
Drop from your cheeks, and fade away;
The snowy warmth you bid me see
Is hollowness and mockery;
The words that make your sin so fair
Grow silent in this vestal air;
The loosened madness of your hair,
That wrapped me in its snaky coils.
No more shall mesh me in your toils;
Your very kisses on my brow
Burn like the lips of devils now.
O sacred night! O virgin calm!
Teach me the immemorial psalm
Of your eternal watch sublime
Above the grovelling lusts of Time!
Within, the orgie shouts and reels;
Without, the planets golden wheels
Spin, circling through the utmost space;
Within, each flushed and reckless face
Is masked to cheat a haunting care:
Without, the silence and the prayer.
Within, the beast of flesh controls;
Without, the God that speaks in souls!

IV

IN THE MORNING

The lamps were thick; the air was hot;
The heavy curtains hushed the room;
The sultry midnight seemed to blot
All life but ours in vacant gloom.

You spoke: my blood in every vein
Throbbed, as by sudden fever stirred,
And some strange whirling in my brain
Subdued my judgment, as I heard.

Ah, yes! when men are dead asleep,
When all the tongues of day are still,
The heart must sometimes fail to keep
Its natural poise 'twixt good and ill.

You knew too well its blind desires,
Its savage instincts, scarce confessed;
I could not see you touch the wires,
But felt your lightning in my breast.

For you, Life's web displayed its flaws,
The wrong which Time transforms to right:
The iron mesh of social laws
Was but a cobweb in your sight.

You showed that tempting freedom, where
The passions bear their perfect fruit,
The cheats of conscience cannot scare,
And Self is monarch absolute.

And something in me seemed to rise,
And trample old obedience down:
The serf sprang up, with furious eyes,
And clutched at the imperial crown.

That fierce rebellion overbore
The arbiter that watched within,
Till Sin so changed an aspect wore,
It was no longer that of Sin.

You gloried in the fevered flush
That spread, defiant, o'er my face,
Nor thought how soon this morning's blush
Would chronicle the night's disgrace.

I wash my eyes; I bathe my brow:
I see the sun on hill and plain:
The old allegiance claims me now,
The old content returns again.

Ah, seek to stop the sober glow
And healthy airs that come with day,
For when the cocks at dawning crow
Your evil spirits flee away.