AEons ago ye were, Before the struggling changeful ra… Wrought into being, ere the tragic… Of human toil and deep desire bega… So shall ye still remain,

The full, clear moon uprose and sp… Her cold, pale splendor o’er the s… A light-strewn path that seemed to… Outward into eternity. Between the darkness and the gleam

Harsh thoughts, blind angers, and… That keep this restless world at s… Mean passions that, like choking s… Perplex the stream of life, Pride and hot envy and cold greed,

Out of the gray northwest, where m… Ye tugged and howled in your tempe… And evermore the huge frost giants… Your wizard guards in vigilance un… Out of the gray northwest, for now…

To-night the very horses springing… Toss gold from whitened nostrils.… The streets that narrow to the wes… Like rows of golden palaces; and h… From all the crowded chimneys towe…

Sweet summer is gone; they have la… The last sad hours that were touch… In the hush where the ghosts of th… The sleep that is sweet of her slu… Let not a sight or a sound erase

Mad with love and laden With immortal pain, Pan pursued a maiden— Pan, the god—in vain. For when Pan had nearly

Hear me, Brother, gently met; Just a little, turn, not yet, Thou shalt laugh, and soon forget: Now the midnight draweth near. I have little more to tell;

Dear dark-brown waters full of all… Of sombre spruce-woods and the for… Laden with sound from far-off nort… Where winds and craggy cataracts c… Voices of streams and mountain pin…

By the Nile, the sacred river, I can see the captive hordes, Strain beneath the lash and quiver At the long papyrus cords, While in granite rapt and solemn,

Why weep ye in your innocent toil… Sweet little hands, why halt and t… Full many a wrong note falls, but… Each note to me is like a golden g… Each broken cadence like a mournin…

O little one, daughter, my dearest… With your smiles and your beautifu… And your laughter, the brightest a… O gravest and gayest of girls; With your hands that are softer th…

Think not, oh master of the well-t… This earth is only thine; for afte… When all is sown and gathered and… Comes the grave poet with creative… And from these silent acres and cl…

What do poets want with gold, Cringing slaves and cushioned ease… Are not crusts and garments old Better for their souls than these? Gold is but the juggling rod

To-day the world is wide and fair With sunny fields of lucid air, And waters dancing everywhere; The snow is almost gone; The noon is builded high with ligh…