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Poems by William W. Story

Story, William Wetmore (1819-1895)

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[section]
  
[dedication]
  
CASTLE PALO.
  
IN THE WEST.
  
IN THE EAST.
  
THE NECKAN.
  
THE DEATH OF GREGORY XVI.
  
“DE PROFUNDIS CLAMAVI.”
  
IN THE MOUNTAINS.
  
SHADOWS AND VOICES AT TWILIGHT.
  
A TESTAMENT.
  
ITALY AND NEW ENGLAND.
  
THE MARCHESE CASTELLO
  
THE PINE.
  
VENICE.
  
BETWEEN TWELVE AND ONE.
  
TO J--- S---.
  
THE BROKEN HARP.
  
FAIRY-LAND.
  
THE TORRENT.
  
TO J. S.
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COUPLETS.
 1. 
[I. To each his separate work; the ox to drag the plough]
 3. 
[III. Strive not to say the whole! the Poet, in his Art]
 4. 
[IV. We of our age are part, and every thrill that wakes]
 5. 
[V. All Arts are one, howe'er distributed they stand]
 6. 
[VI. Lift thou thyself above the accidents of life]
 7. 
[VII. Why fear the critic's pen; if dipped in gall it be]
 8. 
[VIII. The old because 'tis old the fool will reverence]
 9. 
[IX. Yes, thrift is very good. Respect to men of thrift]
 10. 
[X. Live not without a friend! The Alpine rock must own]
 11. 
[XI. Herein the spirit's gifts are not like those of clay]
 12. 
[XII. As rooted to the rock the yearning sea-weed grows]
 13. 
[XIII. How use and custom steal from fairest things their grace]
 14. 
[XIV. While we are young our youth too near for Art doth lie]
 15. 
[XV. In every leaf is seen the structure of the tree]
 16. 
[XVI. The scholar like a ship is filled with foreign store]
 17. 
[XVII. What strange and magic power in sympathy resides?]
 18. 
[XVIII. Pain of the devil is, with God is joy alone]
 19. 
[XIX. That dress of thine is made of many lives; I see]
 20. 
[XX. The conscious Intellect the servant is of Art]
 21. 
[XXI. Like to the human frame, or like the spreading tree]
 22. 
[XXII. I look into thine eyes, myself, dear love, to see]
 23. 
[XXIII. Seek not to pour the world into thy little mould]
 24. 
[XXIV. An inward faith alone can make our life sincere]
 25. 
[XXV. Nature in circles moves round fixed and central laws]
 26. 
[XXVI. While work is only task we are apprentices]
 27. 
[XXVII. Joy is the tone that sounds through nature's myriad vents]
 28. 
[XXVIII. Nature allows not man his brother to exclude]
 29. 
[XXIX. We are but what we think, and must immortal be]
 30. 
[XXX. The East for sweet luxurious ease and rest]
 31. 
[XXXI. Nature will ne'er repeat; whatever she creates]
 32. 
[XXXII. Where thou art strong and stout thy friend to thee will show]
 33. 
[XXXIII. The Imperfect hath a charm the Perfect cannot own]
 34. 
[XXXIV. The torch you turn to earth still upward lifts its flame]
  
THE BLACK-LETTER TEXT.
  
THE AUTUMN CYCLAMEN.
  
DIRGE.
  
THE BIVOUAC.
  
THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE.
  
SAPPHO.
  
TO G. W. C. AND C. P. C.
  
THE LOCUST-TREES.
  
SORRENTO.
  
PROLOGUE,
  
L'ENVOI.

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[XIII. How use and custom steal from fairest things their grace]

How use and custom steal from fairest things their grace,
And how privation makes us feel the vacant place.
The open sky I breathed seemed not so sweet and pure
Till I was doomed this damp, foul dungeon to endure.
241

I never knew, dear friend, your love's necessity,
But by Death's chasm left where once you used to be.
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