gold To the red rising moon, and loud and deep The nightingale is singing from the steep; It is midsummer, but the air is cold; Can it be death? Alas, beside the fold A shepherd's pipe lies shattered near his sheep. Lo! in the moonlight gleams a marble white, On which I read: "Here lieth one whose name Was writ in water." And was this the meed Of his sweet singing? Rather let me write : "The smoking flax before it burst to flame Was quenched by death, and broken the bruised reed." THE GALAXY. TORRENT of light and river of the air, Along whose bed the glimmering stars are seen Like gold and silver sands in some ravine Where mountain streams have left their channels bare! THE SOUND OF THE SEA. THE sea awoke at midnight from its sleep, And round the pebbly beaches far and wide I heard the first wave of the rising tide Rush onward with uninterrupted The Spaniard sees in thee the pathway, O summer day beside the joyous sea! where O summer day so wonderful and white, |