You say I do not love you!--Tell me why, When I have gazed a little on your face, And then gone forth into the world of men, A beauty, neither of the Earth or Sky, A glamour, that transforms each common place, Attends my spirit then?
You say I do not love you!--Yet I know When I have heard you speak and dwelt upon Your words awhile, my heart has gone away Filled with strange music, very soft and low, A dim companion, touching with sweet tone The discords of the day.
You say I do not love you!--Yet it seems, When I have kissed your hand and said farewell, A fragrance, sweeter than did flower yet bloom, Accompanies my soul and fills, with dreams, The sad and sordid streets, where people dwell, Dreams of spring's wild perfume.
I would not see, yet must behold The truth they preach in church and hall; And question so,--Is death then all, And life an idle tale that's told?
The myriad wonders art hath wrought I deemed eternal as God's love: No more than shadows these shall prove, And insubstantial as a thought.
And love and labor, who have gone, Hand in close hand, and civilized The wilderness, these shall be prized No more than if they had not done.
Then wherefore strive? Why strain and bend Beneath a burden so unjust? Our works are builded out of dust, And dust their universal end.
The gods, who could loose and bind In the long ago, The gods, who were stern and kind To men below, Where shall we seek and find, Or, finding, know?
Where Greece, with king on king, Dreamed in her halls; Where Rome kneeled worshiping, The owl now calls, And whispering ivies cling To mouldering walls.
They have served, and have passed away From the earth and sky, And their Creed is a record gray, Where the passer-by Reads, "Live and be glad to-day, For to-morrow ye die."
And shall it be so, indeed, When we are no more, That nations to be shall read,-- As we have before,-- In the dust of a Christian Creed, But pagan lore?
Written February 24, 1898, on reading the latest news concerning the battleship Maine, blown up in Havana harbor, February 15th.
The fathers of our fathers they were men!-- What are we who now stand idle while we see our seamen slain? Who behold our flag dishonored, and still pause! Are we blind to her duplicity, the treachery of Spain? To the rights, she scorns, of nations and their laws? Let us rise, a mighty people, let us wipe away the stain! Must we wait till she insult us for a cause?-- The fathers of our fathers they were men!