POETRY.
VITA NUOVA.
LONG bath she slept, forgetful of delight : At last, at last, the enchanted princess, Earth, Claimed with a kiss by Spring the adventurer, In slumber knows the destined lips, and thrilled Through all the deeps of her unageing heart With passionate necessity of joy, Wakens, and yields her loveliness to love.
0 ancient streams, 0 far-descended woods Fall of the fluttering of melodious souls ; 0 hills and valleys that adorn yourselves In solemn jubilation ; winds and clouds, Ocean and land in stormy nuptials clasped, And all exuberant creatures that acclaim The Earth's divine renewal : lo, I too With yours would mingle somewhat of glad song, I too have come through wintry terrors,—yea, Through tempest and through cataclysm of soul Have come, and am delivered. Me the Spring, Me also, dimly with new life hath touched, And with regenerate hope, the salt of life; And I would dedicate these thankful tears To whatsoever rower beneficent, Veiled though his countenance, undivolged his thought, Heti' led me from the haunted darkness forth Into the gracious air and vernal morn, And suffers me to know my spirit a note Of this great chorus, one with bird and stream And voiceful mountain,—nay, a string, how jarred' And all but broken ! of that lyre of life Whereon himself, the master harp-player, Resolving all its mortal dissonance To one immortal and most perfect strain, Harps without pause, building with song the world.
WILLIAM WATSON.
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