Happier of happy though I be, like them I cannot take possession of the sky, Mount with a thoughtless impulse, and wheel there One of a mighty multitude whose way Is a perpetual harmony and dance Magnificent.

But an old age serene and bright, And lovely as a Lapland night, Shall lead thee to thy grave.

Is there not An art, a music, and a stream of words That shalt be life, the acknowledged voice of life?

Thou, while thy babes around thee cling, Shalt show us how divine a thing A Woman may be made.

Bright flower! whose home is everywhere Bold in maternal nature's care And all the long year through the heir Of joy or sorrow, Methinks that there abides in t…

On the mountains there is freedom! The world is perfect everywhere, Save where man comes with his torment.

A wet sheet and a flowing sea, A wind that follows fast, And fills the white and rustling sail, And bends the gallant mast. And bends the gallant mast, my boys…