 | Poems |  |
A CRY FOR NATIONAL EDUCATION.
Ye perfect flowers; why not perfect men?
I asked the purple bloom whose velvet round
Orbed the rich sweetness of the o'er-ripe plum,
Where it the glory of its robing found,
Whence did the treasures of its sweetness come?
And straight it with reply my questioning met,
“My primal germ of beauty, mortal, know,
Within the untended sloe did nature set;
Man's art its rare enrichment did bestow.”
Orbed the rich sweetness of the o'er-ripe plum,
Where it the glory of its robing found,
Whence did the treasures of its sweetness come?
And straight it with reply my questioning met,
“My primal germ of beauty, mortal, know,
Within the untended sloe did nature set;
Man's art its rare enrichment did bestow.”
I lay me down in golden summer, where
The velvet pansy wantoned in the sun,
And questioned it from whence the treasures rare
Of its entangling beauty it had won;
And straight this low reply my questioning met,
“Its germ the cunning of man's art did find
Hid deep within the wayside violet,
And gave it glory through the might of mind.”
The velvet pansy wantoned in the sun,
And questioned it from whence the treasures rare
Of its entangling beauty it had won;
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“Its germ the cunning of man's art did find
Hid deep within the wayside violet,
And gave it glory through the might of mind.”
I stood beside the swiftness of the horse,
And questioned whence it drew its unmatched grace,
The windy speed that through the shouting course
Bore off from all the glory of the race;
Then to my questioning came the like reply,
“Not vainly hath the might of man's wit striven
An added grace and swiftness to supply,
That ne'er to me by nature's self were given.”
And questioned whence it drew its unmatched grace,
The windy speed that through the shouting course
Bore off from all the glory of the race;
Then to my questioning came the like reply,
“Not vainly hath the might of man's wit striven
An added grace and swiftness to supply,
That ne'er to me by nature's self were given.”
I asked the stony marvel of a form
That in its rare perfection distanced life,
“White wonder, with the charmed power to warm
My soul to worship, how becam'st thou rife?”
And the fair shape did answer me the same,
“My marble flesh the quarried earth bestowed,
But from the sculptor's dream, life on me came,
And to his shaping hand my beauty's owed.”
That in its rare perfection distanced life,
“White wonder, with the charmed power to warm
My soul to worship, how becam'st thou rife?”
And the fair shape did answer me the same,
“My marble flesh the quarried earth bestowed,
But from the sculptor's dream, life on me came,
And to his shaping hand my beauty's owed.”
Then from the face of all, did I depart
Into the thoughtful haunts of solitude,
And there companioned by my pulsing heart,
Over their speech in painful thought did brood;
Then said I, “Shall the might of mortal power
That gives the fruit a sweetness not its own,
Wonder to stone and glory to the flower,
Deny perfection unto man alone?”
Into the thoughtful haunts of solitude,
And there companioned by my pulsing heart,
Over their speech in painful thought did brood;
Then said I, “Shall the might of mortal power
That gives the fruit a sweetness not its own,
Wonder to stone and glory to the flower,
Deny perfection unto man alone?”
Ah that the human will's all mighty force,
That with an alien gracefulness doth gift
The lower nature of the unreasoning horse,
Would man but to a higher nature lift!
Ah that the shaping care of man would mould
To higher grace the marble of the mind,
That all the charms we hunger to behold
In coming souls, its power would bid us find!
That with an alien gracefulness doth gift
The lower nature of the unreasoning horse,
Would man but to a higher nature lift!
Ah that the shaping care of man would mould
To higher grace the marble of the mind,
That all the charms we hunger to behold
In coming souls, its power would bid us find!
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For if through all creation's wondrous round
With searching eyes thy winged spirit ran,
What in its circling journey would be found
More worth man's culture than the mind of man?
Oh what an unknown glory then would wear
The coming years the future towards us leads,
If man to store the unnurtured mind would care
With the perfection the soul's culture breeds!
With searching eyes thy winged spirit ran,
What in its circling journey would be found
More worth man's culture than the mind of man?
Oh what an unknown glory then would wear
The coming years the future towards us leads,
If man to store the unnurtured mind would care
With the perfection the soul's culture breeds!
Then were the terror of the exiling sword
From the lost Eden banished once again,
Then bliss within creation's heart were cored,
And souls for love no more were made in vain;
Shall not these golden days to man be brought?
Towards this goal do not the ages tend?
Yea, take thou heart; not idly dreamest thou, thought;
Culture shall perfect souls too in the end.
From the lost Eden banished once again,
Then bliss within creation's heart were cored,
And souls for love no more were made in vain;
Shall not these golden days to man be brought?
Towards this goal do not the ages tend?
Yea, take thou heart; not idly dreamest thou, thought;
Culture shall perfect souls too in the end.
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