Teach me the secret of thy innocence, That in simplicity I may grow wise; Asking of Art no other recompense Than the approval of her own just eyes; So may I rise to some fair eminence, Though less than thine, O cousin of the skies.
Teach me these things; through whose high knowledge, I,-- When Death hath poured oblivion through my veins, And brought me home, as all are brought, to lie In that vast house, common to serfs and thanes,-- I shall not die, I shall not utterly die, For beauty born of beauty--_that_ remains.
Where are they, that song and tale Tell of? lands our childhood knew? Sea-locked Faerylands that trail Morning summits, dim with dew, Crimson o'er a crimson sail.
Where in dreams we entered on Wonders eyes have never seen: Whither often we have gone, Sailing a dream-brigantine On from voyaging dawn to dawn.
Leons seeking lands of song; Fabled fountains pouring spray; Where our anchors dropped among Corals of some tropic bay, With its swarthy native throng.
Shoulder ax and arquebus!-- We may find it!--past yon range Of sierras, vaporous, Rich with gold and wild and strange That lost region dear to us.
Yet, behold, although our zeal Darien summits may subdue, Our Balboa eyes reveal But a vaster sea come to-- New endeavor for our keel.
Yet! who sails with face set hard Westward,--while behind him lies Unfaith,--where his dreams keep guard Round it, in the sunset skies, He may reach it--afterward.
_"We have the receipt of fern seed: we walk invisible."_ --HENRY IV
And we have met but twice or thrice!-- Three times enough to make me love!-- I praised your hair once; then your glove; Your eyes; your gown;--you were like ice; And yet this might suffice, my love, And yet this might suffice.
St. John hath told me what to do: To search and find the ferns that grow The fern seed that the faeries know; Then sprinkle fern seed in my shoe, And haunt the steps of you, my dear, And haunt the steps of you.
You'll see the poppy pods dip here; The blow-ball of the thistle slip, And no wind breathing--but my lip Next to your anxious cheek and ear, To tell you I am near, my love, To tell you I am near.
On wood-ways I shall tread your gown-- You'll know it is no brier!--then I'll whisper words of love again, And smile to see your quick face frown: And then I'll kiss it down, my dear, And then I'll kiss it down.