The round of space, and rapt below 5 Thro' all the dewy-tassell'd wood, And shadowing down the horned flood In ripples, fan my brows and blow
The fever from my cheek, and sigh The full new life that feeds thy breath 10 Throughout my frame, till Doubt and Death, Ill brethren, let the fancy fly
From belt to belt of crimson seas On leagues of odour streaming far, To where in yonder orient star 15 A hundred spirits whisper "Peace."
Unwatch'd, the garden bough shall sway, The tender blossom flutter down, Unloved, that beech will gather brown, This maple burn itself away;
Unloved, the sun-flower, shining fair, 5 Ray round with flames her disk of seed, And many a rose-carnation feed With summer spice the humming air;
Unloved, by many a sandy bar, The brook shall babble down the plain, 10 At noon or when the lesser wain Is twisting round the polar star;
Uncared for, gird the windy grove, And flood the haunts of hern and crake; Or into silver arrows break 15 The sailing moon in creek and cove;
Till from the garden and the wild A fresh association blow, And year by year the landscape grow Familiar to the stranger's child; 20
As year by year the labourer tills His wonted glebe, or lops the glades; And year by year our memory fades From all the circle of the hills.
Who loves not Knowledge? Who shall rail Against her beauty? May she mix With men and prosper! Who shall fix Her pillars? Let her work prevail.
But on her forehead sits a fire: 5 She sets her forward countenance And leaps into the future chance, Submitting all things to desire.
Half-grown as yet, a child, and vain-- She cannot fight the fear of death. 10 What is she, cut from love and faith, But some wild Pallas from the brain
Of Demons? fiery-hot to burst All barriers in her onward race For power. Let her know her place; 15 She is the second, not the first.
A higher hand must make her mild, If all be not in vain; and guide Her footsteps, moving side by side With wisdom, like the younger child: 20
For she is earthly of the mind, But Wisdom heavenly of the soul. O friend, who earnest to thy goal So early, leaving me behind
I would the great world grew like thee, 25 Who grewest not alone in power And knowledge, but by year and hour In reverence and in charity.