Edmund Clarence Stedman Poems

JUST where the Treasury's marble front
Looks over Wall Street's mingled nations;
Where Jews and Gentiles most are wont
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I SAW the constellated matin choir
Then when they sang together in the dawn,—
The morning stars of this first rounded day
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A. D. 1692

SOE, Mistress Anne, faire neighbour myne,
How rides a witche when nighte-winds blowe?
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WHEN the veil from the eyes is lifted
The seer's head is gray;
When the sailor to shore has drifted
The sirens are far away.
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THOU art mine, thou hast given thy word;
Close, close in my arms thou art clinging;
Alone for my ear thou art singing
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I HAVE a little kinsman
Whose earthly summers are but three,
And yet a voyager is he
Greater than Drake or Frobisher,
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THAT year? Yes, doubtless I remember still,--
Though why take count of every wind that blows!
'T was plain, men said, that Fortune used me ill
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Voice of the western wind!
Thou singest from afar,
Rich with the music of a land
Where all my memories are;
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THey that in course of heauenly spheares are skild,
To euery planet point his sundry yeare:
in which her circles voyage is fulfild,
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LOOK on this cast, and know the hand
That bore a nation in its hold:
From this mute witness understand
What Lincoln was,—how large of mould
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