CONTENTS.

A Dream,                         1
Dream-Song,                      8
Doubt,                           9
Song,                           13
Anticipation,                   14
Song,                           18
Misunderstanding,               19
Shadow-Song,                    23
Revulsion,                      24
A Song of Dawn,                 27
Weariness,                      28
A Song of Rest,                 31
Death,                          33
Battle-Song,                    38
Content,                        39
Sea-Song,                       42
Gratitude,                      44
Song,                           48
Prayer,                         49
Song,                           53
Loneliness,                     54
Sea-Song,                       57
Incompleteness,                 59
Song,                           65
Life’s Joys,                    65
Song,                           70
Barter,                         72
Song,                           76
To-morrow,                      78
Song,                           82

A Dream.

    I stood far off above the haunts of men
      Somewhere, I know not, when the sky was dim
      From some worn glory, and the morning hymn
    Of the gay oriole echoed from the glen. 
      Wandering, I felt earth’s peace, nor knew I sought
      A visioned face, a voice the wind had caught.

    I passed the waking things that stirred and gazed,
      Thought-bound, and heeded not; the waking flowers
      Drank in the morning mist, dawn’s tender showers,
    And looked forth for the Day-god who had blazed
      His heart away and died at sundown.  Far
      In the gray west faded a loitering star.

    It seemed that I had wandered through long years,
      A life of years, still seeking gropingly
      A thing I dared not name; now I could see
    In the still dawn a hope, in the soft tears
      Of the deep-hearted violets a breath
      Of kinship, like the herald voice of Death.

    Slow moved the morning; where the hill was bare
      Woke a reluctant breeze.  Dimly I knew
      My Day was come.  The wind-blown blossoms threw
    Their breath about me, and the pine-swept air
      Grew to a shape, a mighty, formless thing,
      A phantom of the wood’s imagining.

    And as I gazed, spell-bound, it seemed to move
      Its tendril limbs, still swaying tremulously
      As if in spirit-doubt; then glad and free
    Crystalled the being won from waiting grove
      Into a human likeness.  There he stood,
      The vine-browed shape of Nature’s mortal mood.

    “Now have I found thee, Vision I have sought
      These years, unknowing; surely thou art fair
      And inly wise, and on thy tasselled hair
    Glows Heaven’s own light.  Passion and fame are naught
      To thy clear eyes, O Prince of many lands,—­
      Grant me thy joy,” I cried, and stretched my hands.