So each, at last himself, for good
In that dear country lays him down,
At last beloved and understood
And pure in feature and renown.
STILL I LOVE TO RHYME
Still I love to rhyme, and still more, rhyming, to wander
Far from the commoner way;
Old-time trills and falls by the brook-side still do I ponder,
Dreaming to-morrow to-day.
Come here, come, revive me, Sun-God, teach me, Apollo,
Measures descanted before;
Since I ancient verses, I emulous follow,
Prints in the marbles of yore.
Still strange, strange, they sound in old young raiment invested,
Songs for the brain to forget—
Young song-birds elate to grave old temples benested
Piping and chirruping yet.