O Poet, more than ocean, lonelier! In inaccessible rest And storm remote, thou, sea of thoughts, dost stir, Scattered through east to west,— Now, while thou closest with the kiss of her Who locks thee to her breast. p. 36VENERATION OF IMAGES p. 36 Thou man, first-comer, whose wide arms entreat, Gather, clasp, welcome, bind, Lack, or remember! whose warm pulses beat With love of thine own kind; Unlifted for a blessing on yon sea, Unshrined on this high-way, O flesh, O grief, thou too shalt have our knee, Thou rood of every day! p. 37AT NIGHT p. 37 Home, home from the horizon far and clear, Hither the soft wings sweep; Flocks of the memories of the day draw near The dovecote doors of sleep. O which are they that come through sweetest light Of all these homing birds? Which with the straightest and the swiftest flight? Your words to me, your words!