Philip Henry Savage Poems

WE do not ask to be forgiven,
Nor out of earth to win
An unpremeditated heaven,
Nor quit the claim of sin.
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GIVE o'er the strife! The poet cries
The maiden mercy, in whose eyes
He sees the light of paradise.
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YOU 'VE seen a sky, besprent with mist
Across the sleepy amethyst,
Break when the western wind has sent
His harriers to the orient.
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HOW clear, when 't is most far from clear,
Far sounds across the dark you hear:
Approaching wheels, when in the lane
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IN Adam's sin
Did I begin.

With toil and sweat
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'Believe in me!' Lord, who art thou
That bid'st me to believe in thee?
I have my life to live, and now
Thy yoke would but a burden be;
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'Something in the sense of morning
Lifts the heart up to the sun.'
In our youth we may be pagan,
God is many, and the One
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A beetle bug has bit my coat
And ta'en a crescent moon,
Whether to muffle round his throat
Or felt a pair of shoon.
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A lark flew by upon the air
And struck a red leaf from the tree,
There where he lighted; and a pair
Of robins bore him company.
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Adam arose at the word of God,
Up-borne on the bosom of all the earth;
Brother of trees and the black, prone sod;
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