To brood, but no more fret.

And hour by hour among all shapes that grow

Of purple mints and daisies gemmed with gold

In sweet unrest my visions come and go;

I feel and hear and with quiet eyes behold;

And hour by hour, the ever-journeying sun,

In gold and shadow spun,

Into mine eyes and blood, and through the dim

Green glimmering forest of the grass shines down,

Till flower and blade, and every cranny brown,

And I are soaked with him.

[Pg 18]

[Pg 18]

FREEDOM.

Out of the heart of the city begotten

Of the labour of men and their manifold hands,

Whose souls, that were sprung from the earth in her morning,

No longer regard or remember her warning,

Whose hearts in the furnace of care have forgotten

Forever the scent and the hue of her lands;

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