I Deal
Every movement a dance
Every word, a poem and a song.
Every being, a work of art.
Every moment, communion.
I am love itself,
Flowing and flowering
In endless creation.
I am the high ideal,
For nothing is a limitation.
I don’t stand apart from anything,
But embrace all
With the love of God!
Epistle to James Craggs, Esq; Secretary of State
A soul as full of Worth, as void of Pride,
Which nothing seeks to show, or needs to hide,
Which nor to Guilt, nor Fear its Caution owes,
And boasts a Warmth that from no Passion flows;
A Face untaught to feign! a judging Eye,
That darts severe upon a rising Lye,
And strikes a blush thro frontless Flattery.
All this thou wert; and being this before,
Know, Kings and Fortune cannot make thee more.
Then scorn to gain a Friend by servile ways,
Nor wish to lose a Foe these Virtues raise;
But candid, free, sincere, as you began,
proceed -- a Minister, but still a Man;
Be not (exalted to whate'er degree)
Asham'd of any Friend, not ev'n of Me.
The Patriot's plain, but untrod path pursue;
If not, 'tis I must be ashamed of You.
Good Morning, Sweetheart!
It feels good to take your hand today,
As though many lifetimes have faded away.
It feels good to wake up and feel alive
With the call of your love, which I give in my turn.
Your spirit is beckoning, and I'm taking the dive,
Knowing I still have so much to learn!
It feels good to greet you and to see you smile
And to know my estrangements are reconciled.
It feels good to know that you're able to hear
The struggles I go through, though stupid or hard.
As I overcome, you are present to cheer.
And there's nothing I show you that you'd disregard.
It feels good to taste your tender kiss
And then face the rain in your joy and your bliss.
It feels good to sit down and share a meal,
Knowing there'll always be enough to eat.
And that whatever we say, we'll keep it real.
It feels good to feel complete!
Spring
When daisies pied* and violets blue
And lady-smocks all silver-white,
And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue
Do paint the meadows with delight,
The cuckoo then, on every tree
Mocks married men; for thus sings he,
"Cuckoo!"
Cuckoo, cuckoo! -- O word of fear,
Unpleasing to a married ear!
When shepherds pipe on oaten straws
And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks,
When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws,
And maidens bleach their summer smocks,
The cuckoo then, on every tree
Mocks married men, for thus sings he,
"Cuckoo!"
Cuckoo, cuckoo! -- O word of fear,
Unpleasing to a married ear!
*comes in double colors
A Sight in Camp in the Daybreak Gray and Dim
A Sight in camp in the daybreak gray and dim
As from my tent I emerge so early sleepless,
As slow I walk in the cool fresh air the path near by the hospital tent,
Three forms I see on stretchers lying, brought out there untended lying,
Over each the blanket spread, ample brownish woolen blanket,
Gray and heavy blanket, folding, covering all.
Curious I halt and silent stand
Then with light fingers I from the face of the nearest the first just lift the blanket,
Who are you elderly man so gaunt and grim,
with well-gray'd hair, and flesh all sunken about the eyes?
Who are you my dear comrade?
Then to the second I step -- and who are you my child and darling?
Who are you sweet boy with cheeks yet blooming?
Then to the third -- a face nor child nor old, very calm,
as of beautiful yellow-white ivory;
Young man I think I know you --
I think this face is the face of the Christ himself,
Dead and divine and brother of all, and here again he lies.
