Laugh, heart, again in the grey twilight,
Sigh, heart, again in the dew of morn

Set me over the main again,

Loose me for China, loose me for France,
Give me to rolic through Spain again
Or ever the years advance!

Or ever the sordid clutch of the years
Tear the leaping heart from my side,
Grant me a gust of laughter and tears,
And the breathing earth for bride!

God of Wanderers! send me the seas, Blustering blue-throats shagged at the nape; Shoulder me forth from my prison of ease, Spurn me from Cape to Cape!

Lash me onward from Land to Land, Star-bronzed, stained with the brine; With the roofless reach of the iris-spanned Soul's lust, that is . . . life! be mine.

ECSTASY

BY HAROLD TROWBRIDGE PULSIFER

I heard the wind among the trees,
The surf along the sea:

Star-deep, soul-wide,

The sudden tide

Swept on and over me.

My hidden dreams, a rushing sea,—

All glorious they came,

A blazing light

That made the night

A living thing of flame!

THE IDLE LAKE

BY EDMUND SPENSER

In this wide Inland sea, that hight by name
The Idle lake, my wandring ship I row,

That knowes her port, and thither sayles by ayme,
Ne care, ne feare I how the wind do blow,

Or whether swift I wend, or whether slow

THE BELL

BY JAMES RORTY

On the day when I stopped begging at the heels of life, On that day, as I sat on a high hill, looking at the sun, I heard a bell strike far up in the sky, and my heart swelled,

And into my heart with laughter came trooping the lovely young-wise children of the wisdom of the

earth.

Years had passed before that day; each year the circling seasons found me sad and mournful in the same place.

The fifes of spring played to me, the green grass cried to me, but I would not dance;

The winds of autumn tugged at me, but I would not sail;

Love found me frightened, questioning, and swept on.

In terror I fled to the schools, and pulling at the philosopher's beard, asked why, and why?

I listened respectfully to the wheeze and clatter of the editor's office;

I slept through the professor's lecture and humbly knew that I must be respectful, even while I slept. There was not a drum beaten or a tambourine clashed anywhere, but I was there, beating time, beating time.

Until one day I heard a sweet bell pealing, far in the blue sky pealing, pealing,

And into my heart with laughter came trooping the lovely young-wise children of the wisdom of the earth.

It is long since I have seen the philosopher, but my laughing heart tells me he is still drawing triangles in the sky;

Having business elsewhere, I left the editor pleasuring in the midst of his favorite indignations;

Sitting at the foot of a stone, listening to the blue jays squalling wisdom in the trees, I could find a pension in my heart for every professor in the world.

On the day when I stopped begging at the heels of life, lo,

The brown-robed mother of the western hills taught me quietness;

The blue-eyed mother of waters taught me peace. Love shall have his toll of me; I have honey for every bee nd seeds for every winging bird.

ODE IN MAY

BY WILLIAM WATSON

Let me go forth, and share
The overflowing Sun

With one wise friend, or one
Better than wise, being fair,
Where the pewit wheels and dips
On heights of bracken and ling,
And Earth, unto her leaflet tips,
Tingles with the Spring.

What is so sweet and dear

As a prosperous morn in May,
The confident prime of the day,
And the dauntless youth of the year,
When nothing that asks for bliss,
Asking aright, is denied,

And half of the world a bridegroom is,
And half of the world a bride?

The Song of Mingling flows,
Grave, ceremonial, pure,

As once, from lips that endure,
The cosmic descant rose,

When the temporal lord of life,
Going his golden way,

Had taken a wondrous maid to wife
That long had said him nay.

For of old the Sun, our sire,

Came wooing the mother of men, Earth, that was virginal then, Vestal fire to his fire.

Silent her bosom and coy,

But the strong god sued and press'd; And born of their starry nuptial joy Are all that drink of her breast.

And the triumph of him that begot,
And the travail of her that bore,
Behold they are evermore

As warp and weft in our lot.

We are children of splendour and flame,
Of shuddering, also, and tears.
Magnificent out of the dust we came,
And abject from the Spheres.