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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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273

DIRGE.

Bear him gently to his tomb,
Scatter roses on his bier,
Pure in heart, in vernal bloom,
He hath vanished from us here.
Hushed and low be every strain,
Even-tempered be our grief,
Who could wish him back again,
Even though his life were brief.
He hath vanished from the shroud,
Off the body we must bear,
Like the lightning from the cloud,
Like a song into the air.
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