Hearken, oh hearken! let your souls behind you

      Turn, gently moved!

      Our voices feel along the Dread to find you,

      O lost, beloved!

      Through the thick-shielded and strong-marshalled angels,

      They press and pierce:

      Our requiems follow fast on our evangels, —

      Voice throbs in verse.

      We are but orphaned spirits left in Eden

      A time ago:

      God gave us golden cups, and we were bidden

      To feed you so.

      But now our right hand hath no cup remaining,

      No work to do,

      The mystic hydromel is spilt, and staining

      The whole earth through.

      Most ineradicable stains, for showing

      (Not interfused!)

      That brighter colours were the world's forgoing,

      Than shall be used.

      Hearken, oh hearken! ye shall hearken surely

      For years and years,

      The noise beside you, dripping coldly, purely,

      Of spirits' tears.

      The yearning to a beautiful denied you

      Shall strain your powers;

      Ideal sweetnesses shall overglide you,

      Resumed from ours.

      In all your music, our pathetic minor

      Your ears shall cross;

      And all good gifts shall mind you of diviner,

      With sense of loss.

      We shall be near you in your poet-languors

      And wild extremes,

      What time ye vex the desert with vain angers,

      Or mock with dreams.

      And when upon you, weary after roaming,

      Death's seal is put,

      By the foregone ye shall discern the coming,

      Through eyelids shut.

      Spirits of the Trees.

      Hark! the Eden trees are stirring,

      Soft and solemn in your hearing!

      Oak and linden, palm and fir,

      Tamarisk and juniper,

      Each still throbbing in vibration

      Since that crowning of creation

      When the God-breath spake abroad,

      Let us make man like to God!

      And the pine stood quivering

      As the awful word went by,

      Like a vibrant music-string

      Stretched from mountain-peak to sky;

      And the platan did expand

      Slow and gradual, branch and head;

      And the cedar's strong black shade

      Fluttered brokenly and grand:

      Grove and wood were swept aslant

      In emotion jubilant.

      Voice of the same, but softer.

      Which divine impulsion cleaves

      In dim movements to the leaves

      Dropt and lifted, dropt and lifted,

      In the sunlight greenly sifted, —

      In the sunlight and the moonlight

      Greenly sifted through the trees.

      Ever wave the Eden trees

      In the nightlight and the noonlight,

      With a ruffling of green branches

      Shaded off to resonances,

      Never stirred by rain or breeze.

      Fare ye well, farewell!

      The sylvan sounds, no longer audible,

      Expire at Eden's door.

      Each footstep of your treading

      Treads out some murmur which ye heard before.

      Farewell! the trees of Eden

      Ye shall hear nevermore.

      River Spirits.

      Hark! the flow of the four rivers —

      Hark the flow!

      How the silence round you shivers,

      While our voices through it go,

      Cold and clear.

      A softer Voice.

      Think a little, while ye hear,

      Of the banks

      Where the willows and the deer

      Crowd in intermingled ranks,

      As if all would drink at once

      Where the living water runs! —

      Of the fishes' golden edges

      Flashing in and out the sedges;

      Of the swans on silver thrones,

      Floating down the winding streams

      With impassive eyes turned shoreward

      And a chant of undertones, —

      And the lotos leaning forward

      To help them into dreams!

      Fare ye well, farewell!

      The river-sounds, no longer audible,

      Expire at Eden's door.

      Each footstep of your treading

      Treads out some murmur which ye heard before.

      Farewell! the streams of Eden

      Ye shall hear nevermore.

      Bird Spirit.

      I am the nearest nightingale

      That singeth in Eden after you;

      And I am