La vie décousue

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2:37, 2.39M
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Some caw­ing Crows, a hoot­ing Owl,
A Hawk, a Canary, an old Marsh-Fowl,
One day all meet together
To hold a caucus and settle the fate
Of a cer­tain bird (without a mate),
A bird of another feather.

“My friends,” said the Owl, with a look most wise,
“The Eagle is soar­ing too near the skies,
In a way that is quite improper;
Yet the world is prais­ing her, so I’m told,
And I think her actions have grown so bold
That some of us ought to stop her.”

“I have heard it said,” quoth Hawk, with a sigh,
“That young lambs died at the glance of her eye,
And I wholly scorn and des­pise her.
This, and more, I am told they say,
And I think that the only proper way
Is never to recog­nize her.”

“I am quite con­vinced,” said Crow, with a caw,
“That the Eagle minds no moral law,
She’s a most unruly creature.“
“She’s an ugly thing,” piped Canary Bird;
“Some call her handsome–it’s so absurd–
She hasn’t a decent feature.”

Then the old Marsh-Hen went hop­ping about,
She said she was sure–_she_ hadn’t a doubt–
Of the truth of each bird’s story:
And she thought it a duty to stop her flight,
To pull her down from her lofty height,
And take the gilt from her glory.

But, lo! from a peak on the moun­tain grand
That looks out over the smil­ing land
And over the mighty ocean,
The Eagle is spread­ing her splen­did wings–
She rises, rises, and upward swings,
With a slow, majestic motion.

Up in the blue of God’s own skies,
With a cry of rap­ture, away she flies,
Close to the Great Eternal:
She sweeps the world with her pier­cing sight;
Her soul is filled with the infin­ite
And the joy of things supernal.

Thus rise forever the chosen of God,
The genius-crowned or the power-shod,
Over the dust-world sail­ing;
And back, like splin­ters blown by the winds,
Must fall the mis­siles of silly minds,
Use­less and unavailing.

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1:48, 1.65M
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In the dark night, from sweet refresh­ing sleep
I wake to hear out­side my window-pane
The uncurbed fury of the wild spring rain,
And weird winds lash­ing the defi­ant deep,
And roar of floods that gather strength and leap
Down dizzy, wreck-strewn chan­nels to the main.
I turn upon my pil­low and again
Com­pose myself for slum­ber.
Let them sweep;
I once sur­vived great floods, and do not fear,
Though omin­ous plan­ets con­greg­ate, and seem
To fore­tell strange dis­asters.
From a dream–
Ah! dear God! such a dream!–I woke to hear,
Through the dense shad­ows lit by no star’s gleam,
The rush of mighty waters on my ear.
Help­less, afraid, and all alone, I lay;
The floods had come upon me unaware.
I heard the crash of struc­tures that were fair;
The bridges of fond hopes were swept away
By great salt waves of sor­row. In dis­may
I saw by the red lightning’s lurid glare
That on the rock-bound island of des­pair
I had been cast. Till the dim dawn of day
I heard my castles fall­ing, and the roll
Of angry bil­lows bear­ing to the sea
The broken tim­bers of my very soul.
Were all the pent-up waters from the whole
Stu­pendous solar sys­tem to break free,
There are no floods that now can frighten me.

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1:07, 1.02M
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He who pos­sesses vir­tue at its best,
Or great­ness in the true sense of the word,
Has one day star­ted even with that herd
Whose swift feet now speed but at sin’s behest.
It is the same force in the human breast
Which makes men gods or demons. If we gird
Those strong emo­tions by which we are stirred
With might of will and pur­pose, heights unguessed
Shall dawn for us; or if we give them sway
We can sink down and con­sort with the lost.
All vir­tue is worth just the price it cost.
Black sin is oft white truth that missed its way
And wandered off in paths not under­stood.
Twin-born I hold great evil and great good.

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0:45, 706K
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I strolled last eve across the lonely down;
One sol­it­ary pic­ture struck my eye:
A dis­tant plough­boy stood against the sky–
How far he seemed above the noisy town!

Upon the bosom of a cloud the sod
Laid its bruised cheek as he moved slowly by,
And, watch­ing him, I asked myself if I
In very truth stood half as near to God.

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1:06, 1.01M
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The hurry of the times affects us so
In this swift rush­ing hour, we crowd and press
And thrust each other back­ward as we go,
And do not pause to lay suf­fi­cient stress
Upon that good, strong, true word, Earn­est­ness.
In our impetu­ous haste, could we but know
Its full, deep mean­ing, its vast import, oh,
Then might we grasp the secret of suc­cess!
In that reced­ing age when men were great,
The bone and sinew of their pur­pose lay
In this one word. God likes an earn­est soul–
Too earn­est to be eager. Soon or late
It leaves the spent horde breath­less by the way,
And stands serene, tri­umphant at the goal.

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1:36, 1.46M
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Quite care­lessly I turned the newsy sheet;
A song I sang, full many a year ago,
Smiled up at me, as in a busy street
One meets an old-time friend he used to know.

So full it was, that simple little song,
Of all the hope, the trans­port, and the truth,
Which to the impetu­ous morn of life belong,
That once again I seemed to grasp my youth.

So full it was of that sweet, fan­cied pain
We woo and cher­ish ere we meet with woe,
I felt as one who hears a plaint­ive strain
His mother sang him in the long ago.

Up from the grave the years that lay between
That song’s birth­day and my stern present came
Like phantom forms and swept across the scene,
Bear­ing their broken dreams of love and fame.

Fair hopes and bright ambi­tions that I knew
In that old time, with their ideal grace,
Shone for a moment, then were lost to view
Behind the dull clouds of the commonplace.

With trem­bling hands I put the sheet away;
Ah, little song! the sad and bit­ter truth
Struck like an arrow when we met that day!
My life has missed the prom­ise of its youth.

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2:05, 1.91M
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Through rivers of veins on the name­less quest
The tide of my life goes hur­riedly sweep­ing,
Till it reaches that curi­ous wheel o’ the breast,
The human heart, which is never at rest.
Faster, faster, it cries, and leap­ing,
Plunging, dash­ing, speed­ing away,
The wheel and the river work night and day.

I know not where­fore, I know not whither,
This strange tide rushes with such mad force:
It glides on hither, it slides on thither,
Over and over the self­same course,
With never an out­let and never a source;
And it lashes itself to the heat of pas­sion
And whirls the heart in a mill-wheel fashion.

I can hear in the hush of the still, still night,
The cease­less sound of that mighty river;
I can hear it gush­ing, gurg­ling, rush­ing,
With a wild, deli­ri­ous, strange delight,
And a con­scious pride in its sense of might,
As it hur­ries and wor­ries my heart forever.

And I won­der oft as I lie awake,
And list to the river that seethes and surges
Over the wheel that it chides and urges–
I won­der oft if that wheel will break
With the mighty pres­sure it bears, some day,
Or slowly and wear­ily wear away.

For little by little the heart is wear­ing,
Like the wheel of the mill, as the tide goes tear­ing
And plunging hur­riedly through my breast,
In a net­work of veins on a name­less quest,
From and forth, unto unknown oceans,
Bring­ing its car­goes of fierce emo­tions,
With never a pause or an hour for rest.

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0:45, 716K
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I saw the day lean o’er the world’s sharp edge
And peer into night’s chasm, dark and damp;
High in his hand he held a blaz­ing lamp,
Then dropped it and plunged head­long down the ledge.

With lurid splendor that swift paled to gray,
I saw the dim skies sud­denly flush bright.
‘Twas but the expir­ing glory of the light
Flung from the hand of the adven­tur­ous day.

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1:11, 1.08M
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Because of the full­ness of what I had
All that I have seems void and vain.
If I had not been happy I were not sad;
Though my salt is savor­less, why complain?

From the ripe per­fec­tion of what was mine,
All that is mine seems worse than naught;
Yet I know as I sit in the dark and pine,
No cup could be drained which had not been fraught.

From the throb and thrill of a day that was,
The day that now is seems dull with gloom;
Yet I bear its dull­ness and dark­ness because
‘Tis but the reac­tion of glow and bloom.

From the royal feast which of old was spread
I am starved on the diet which now is mine;
Yet I could not turn hungry from water and bread,
If I had not been sated on fruit and wine.

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1:28, 1.35M
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Let me lean hard upon the Eternal Breast:
In all earth’s devi­ous ways I sought for rest
And found it not. I will be strong, said I,
And lean upon myself. I will not cry
And impor­tune all heaven with my com­plaint.
But now my strength fails, and I fall, I faint:
Let me lean hard.

Let me lean hard upon the unfail­ing Arm.
I said I will walk on, I fear no harm,
The spark divine within my soul will show
The upward path­way where my feet should go.
But now the heights to which I most aspire
Are lost in clouds. I stumble and I tire:
Let me lean hard.

Let me lean harder yet. That swerve­less force
Which speeds the solar sys­tems on their course
Can take, unfelt, the bur­den of my woe,
Which bears me to the dust and hurts me so.
I thought my strength enough for any fate,
But lo! I sink beneath my sorrow’s weight:
Let me lean hard.