Poems by Sidney Lanier

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Into the woods my Master went,
For ever wave, for ever float and shine
As Love will carve dear names upon a tree,
Down mildest shores of milk-white sand,
From cold Norse caves or buccaneer Southern seas
By Sidney and Clifford Lanier.
Once, at night, in the manor wood
"Hey, rose, just born
Sail fast, sail fast,
Young palmer sun, that to these shining sands
I.
Look off, dear Love, across the sallow sands,
Als du im Saal mit deiner himmlischen Kunst
My crippled sense fares bow'd along
He's fast asleep. See how, O Wife,
My soul is sailing through the sea,
Inscribed to the Memory of John Keats.
O Hunger, Hunger, I will harness thee
To-day the woods are trembling through and through
What heartache - ne'er a hill!
"To heal his heart of long-time pain
I.
Life swelleth in a whitening wave,
Sail on, sail on, fair cousin Cloud:
Written for the Art Autograph during the Irish Famine, 1880.
That air same Jones, which lived in Jones,
"So pulse, and pulse, thou rhythmic-hearted Noon
In the South lies a lonesome, hungry Land;
Across the brook of Time man leaping goes
"If life were caught by a clarionet,
Were silver pink, and had a soul,
So one in heart and thought, I trow,
Over the monstrous shambling sea,
Written for the "Martha Washington Court Journal".
In the heart of the Hills of Life, I know
The innocent, sweet Day is dead.
Fair is the wedded reign of Night and Day.
A rose of perfect red, embossed
I was drivin' my two-mule waggin,
Through seas of dreams and seas of phantasies,
Read on the Fourth Commemoration Day, February, 1880.
Through all that year-scarred agony of height,
The storm hath blown thee a lover, sweet,
Fine-tissued as her finger-tips, and white
Of fret, of dark, of thorn, of chill,
Dear Mother-Earth
Frowning, the owl in the oak complained him
Land of the willful gospel, thou worst and thou best;
"Opinion, let me alone: I am not thine.
Sometimes in morning sunlights by the river
I. - Red.
May the maiden,
The hound was cuffed, the hound was kicked,
The sun has kissed the violet sea,
Light rain-drops fall and wrinkle the sea,
Time, hurry my Love to me:
From the German of Herder.
Well: Death is a huge omnivorous Toad
Oft seems the Time a market-town
My soul is like the oar that momently
In my sleep I was fain of their fellowship, fain
The robin laughed in the orange-tree:
I knowed a man, which he lived in Jones,
What time I paced, at pleasant morn,
At midnight, death's and truth's unlocking time,
If haply thou, O Desdemona Morn,
"Order A. P. Hill to prepare for battle."
By the Eldest Grandson.
A Story of Christmas Eve.
Swift, through some trap mine eyes have never found,
Chapter I.
Glooms of the live-oaks, beautiful-braided and woven
Superb and sole, upon a plumed spray
From the German of Heine.
By Sidney and Clifford Lanier.
Our hearths are gone out and our hearts are broken,
It was three slim does and a ten-tined buck in the bracken lay;
"Thou Ship of Earth, with Death, and Birth, and Life, and Sex aboard,
Out of the hills of Habersham,
Death, thou'rt a cordial old and rare:
"O Trade! O Trade! would thou wert dead!
Joust First.
Ploughman, whose gnarly hand yet kindly wheeled
O marriage-bells, your clamor tells
I asked my heart to say
The Day was dying; his breath
To range, deep-wrapt, along a heavenly height,
In o'er-strict calyx lingering,
Look where a three-point star shall weave his beam
Presenting a portrait-bust of the author.
(Killed at Surrey C. H., October, 1866.)
If spicy-fringed pinks that blush and pale
Oft as I hear thee, wrapt in heavenly art,
Died of a cat, May, 1878.
"I saw a sky of stars that rolled in grime.
A white face, drooping, on a bending neck:
"Spring-germs, spring-germs,
By Sidney and Clifford Lanier.
Trim set in ancient sward, his manful bole
Thou God, whose high, eternal Love

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