Learn, learn, learn,—
Our beautiful world is not a field for sheep;
Not just a place wherein to laugh and weep,
To eat and drink, to dance and sigh and sleep
...
Those anguished voices in the air!
Oh, I could shriek and tear my hair
In rage, rebellion and despair.
...
Is it a will-o'-the-wisp, or is dawn breaking,
That our horizon wears so strange a hue?
Is it but one more dream, or are we waking
To find that dreams, at last, are coming true?
...
The lighthouse shines across the sea;
The homing fieldfares sing for glee:
'Behold the shore!'
...
One winter eve, at twilight, when the sound
Of sorrowful winds scarce troubled Nature's rest,
As she lay sleeping, with her hair unbound,
Holding her grey robe to her shivering breast,
...
There are who fear the loosing of the knot
That ties our labouring brother to the oar
...
Each day a new sword flashes in the van;
Another leader, brave to do or die,
...
1.
When earth's winter bareness
Feels the April rain,
All her summer fairness
...
Ah, 'twas but now I saw the sun flush pink on yonder placid tide;
The purple hill-tops, one by one, were strangely lit and glorified;
...