The Isles
Your reason is a snowdrift-reason,
icy in and out of season,
cold and sharded frost with flakes
in which no grace or fervor wakes --
but what of reason's South Sea isles,
flush and warm with native smiles?
Golden-hearted breeze-winds sway
to charge the night and warm the day
as, by the currents warm and clear,
the joys go dancing without fear
and, on the beach-sand wet and fair,
a sunrise gilds the scented air.
Stone
Farther shores I know than this,
visions vivid like the morrow;
holy heaven, everlightened,
sends a mercy, master's sorrow.
I wish anew on falling stars;
those leaping lights in dance display
a dream of powers pouring down
like righteous ruin of the day.
Rue no more the pastward lesson,
harbor here in love alone;
that castle-keep and quiet eyrie
stands blessed beside a saving stone.
