The laurel-leaves are cool and green,

But the thorns are hot and sharp ;

Lean Hunger grins and stares between

The poet and his harp,

Though of Love's sunny sheen his woof have been, Grim want thrusts in the warp.

And if, beyond this darksome clime,
Some fair star Hope may see,

That keeps unjarred the blissful chime

Of its golden infancy,—

Where the harvest-time of faith sublime

Not always is to be ;

Yet would the true soul rather choose

A home where sorrow is,

Than in a sated peace to lose

Its life's supremest bliss,—

The rainbow hues that bend profuse

O'er cloudy spheres like this,—

The want, the sorrow,

and the pain,

That are Love's right to cure,

The sunshine bursting after rain,—

The gladness insecure,

That makes us fain strong hearts to gain,

To do and to endure.

High natures must be thunder-scarred
With many a searing wrong ;

From mother Sorrow's breasts the bard

Sucks gifts of deepest song;

Nor all unmarred with struggles hard
Wax the soul's sinews strong.

Dear Patience, too, is born of woe,

Patience, that opes the gate

Where through the soul of man must go

Up to each nobler state,

Whose voice's flow so meek and low

Smooths the bent brows of Fate.

Though Fame be slow, yet Death is swift,

And, o'er the spirit's eyes,

Life after life doth change and shift

With larger destinies :

As on we drift, some wider rift

Shows us serener skies.

And, though naught falleth to us here
But gains the world counts loss
Though all we hope of wisdom clear,

When climbed to, seems but dross,

Yet all, though ne'er Christ's faith they wear, At least may share his cross.

That ever drew the air,

The wildest and most wayward,
And yet so gently kind,
Thou seemedst but to body

A breath of summer wind.

Into the eternal shadow

That girds our life around,

Into the infinite silence

Wherewith Death's shore is bound,

Thou hast gone forth, beloved!

And I were mean to weep,

That thou hast left Life's shallows

And dost possess the Deep.

Thou liest low and silent,

Thy heart is cold and still,

Thine eyes are shut for ever,

And Death hath had his will;

He loved and would have taken,
I loved and would have kept,
We strove, and he was stronger,
And I have never wept.

Let him possess thy body,

Thy soul is still with me,

More sunny and more gladsome

Than it was wont to be:

Thy body was a fetter

That bound me to the flesh,

Thank God that it is broken,

And now I live afresh!