Oh, smile! The world doth not forgive its slaves

For looking overworked. If thou canst bear

No more, then change the shoulder, tired Queen!

{13}

{13}

 DOWN THE STREAM

FROM whence the brook? From where the waters gather

F

In mountains' deep recesses, stone-black lakes

And dripping crevices. It ripples forth

Into the shining day with scarce a voice,

And with no strength at all, till mountain showers

And winter's snow and spring storms pour their flood

Into the dancing brook, that foams and starts

And rushes headlong down the steeps and throws

Into the Unknown all its youth and strength,

And thunders into hell, to rise again

{14}

In sheets of whiteness into dreamy veils,

To kiss the flowers' feet and overflow

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