 | [Poems by Cary in] The poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary |  |
HYMN OF THE STUDENT OF NATURE.
“I have learned to lean on my own soul, and not to look elsewhere for the reeds that a wind can break.”—
Bulwer.
I know my humble lineage—that my way
Has led among life's valleys, and does still;
But destiny is as the potter's clay,
And we can make it glorious if we will!
Has led among life's valleys, and does still;
But destiny is as the potter's clay,
And we can make it glorious if we will!
Smiles settled on the lips of one who died
In the quick tortures of a fiery bed;
And they by less severe ordeals tried
May surely to an equal strength be wed.
In the quick tortures of a fiery bed;
And they by less severe ordeals tried
May surely to an equal strength be wed.
True, many that I deemed my friends are gone,
But, Nature, thou at least wilt still be kind;
For from thy naked bosom I have drawn
The sweetest draughts I ever hope to find.
But, Nature, thou at least wilt still be kind;
For from thy naked bosom I have drawn
The sweetest draughts I ever hope to find.
53
Out in the tents of summer I have heard
Music that made me happy, not of art,
But the wild song of some sweet-throated bird,
That flowed, as all things best do, from the heart.
Music that made me happy, not of art,
But the wild song of some sweet-throated bird,
That flowed, as all things best do, from the heart.
I will not chase the phantoms that are fled,
Nor like a love-sick dreamer pray to die,
Though I may have no shelter for my head
But the blue curtain of God's equal sky.
Nor like a love-sick dreamer pray to die,
Though I may have no shelter for my head
But the blue curtain of God's equal sky.
But in some flowery nook, away from care,
Fanning my heart down to a pulse more even,
I'll build me beautiful palaces of air
For my soul's children, beings sweet as heaven.
Fanning my heart down to a pulse more even,
I'll build me beautiful palaces of air
For my soul's children, beings sweet as heaven.
And these shall be my friends, for friends like these
Can trouble with no yearning to depart,
And the cold kisses of the mountain breeze
Wake not the tale of Indus in the heart!
Can trouble with no yearning to depart,
And the cold kisses of the mountain breeze
Wake not the tale of Indus in the heart!
| [Poems by Cary in] The poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary | |