That in my morn,
I shrilly sang to scorn;
I'll burst my heart up to thee in this hour!
"O fair, small cloud, float nearer yet and hear me!
A prison'd lark once lov'd a snowy cloud,
Nor did the Day
With sapphire lips, and kiss
Of summery bliss,
Draw all her soul away;
Vainly the fervent East
Deck'd her with roses for their bridal feast;
She would not rest
In his red arms, but slipp'd adown the air
And wan and fair,
Her light foot touch'd a purple mountain crest,
And touching, turn'd
Into swift rain, that like to jewels burn'd;
In the great, wondering azure of the sky;
And while a rainbow spread
Its mighty arms above, she, singing, fled
To the lone-feather'd slave,
In his sad weird grave,
Whose heart upon his silver song had sped
To her in days of old,
In dawns of gold,
And murmuring to him, said:
"O love, I come! O love, I come to cheer thee--
Love, to be near thee!""
WAR.
Shake, shake the earth with giant tread,
Thou red-maned Titian bold;
For every step a man lies dead,
A cottage hearth is cold.
Take up the babes with mailed hands,
Transfix them with thy spears,
Spare not the chaste young virgin-bands,
Tho' blood may be their tears.
Beat down the corn, tear up the vine,
The waters turn to blood;
And if the wretch for bread doth whine,
Give him his kin for food.
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