The law of love binds every
heart
And knits it to
its utmost kin,
Nor can our lives flow long
apart
From souls our
secret souls would win.
The stars come nightly to
the sky,
The tidal wave
comes to the sea;
Nor time, nor space, nor deep,
nor high
Can keep my own
away from me.
SUGGESTIONS FOR STUDY
This poem is so easy that it needs little explanation. It shows the calmness and confidence of one who feels that the universe is right, and that everything comes out well sooner or later. Read the poem through slowly. Its utmost kin means its most distant relations or connections. The tidal wave means the regular and usual flow of the tide. Nor time nor space:—Perhaps Mr. Burroughs was thinking of the Bible, Romans 8:38, 39.
Does the poem mean to encourage mere waiting, without action? Does it discourage effort? Just how much is it intended to convey? Is the theory expressed here a good one? Do you believe it to be true? Read the verses again, slowly and carefully, thinking what they mean. If you like them, take time to learn them.
COLLATERAL READINGS
For a list of Mr. Burrough’s books, see page 177.
Song: The year’s at the spring
Robert Browning
The Building of the Chimney Richard Watson
Gilder
With John o’Birds and John o’Mountains (Century Magazine, 80:521)
A Day at Slabsides (Outlook, 66:351) Washington Gladden
Century, 86:884, October, 1915 (Portrait); Outlook, 78:878, December 3, 1904.
EXERCISES
Try writing a stanza or two in the meter and with the rhyme that Mr. Burroughs uses. Below are given lines that may prove suggestive:—
1. One night when all the sky was clear 2. The plum tree near the garden wall 3. I watched the children at their play 4. The wind swept down across the plain 5. The yellow leaves are drifting down 6. Along the dusty way we sped (In an Automobile) 7. I looked about my garden plot (In my Garden) 8. The sky was red with sudden flame 9. I walked among the forest trees 10. He runs to meet me every day (My Dog)
THE PONT DU GARD
HENRY JAMES
(Chapter XXVI of A Little Tour in France)
It was a pleasure to feel one’s self in Provence again,—the land where the silver-gray earth is impregnated with the light of the sky. To celebrate the event, as soon as I arrived at Nimes I engaged a caleche to convey me to the Pont du Gard. The day was yet young, and it was perfectly fair; it appeared well, for a longish drive, to take advantage, without delay, of such security. After I had left the town I became more intimate with that Provencal