KINDRED
TENDER grass in April springing,
Scent of lilacs wet with rain,
Bluebird jubilantly singing
Snatches of a loved refrain,
Falcon soaring high above me,
Light of stars in deeps divine,
Creeping earth-bound things that move me
To compassion, ye are mine!
Wind in varied cadence playing
Mystic runes on harps unseen,
Blossom hardily delaying
Where lost summer late hath been,
Shadow drifting o'er the mountain,
Mist blown inward from the sea,
Hidden spring and bubbling fountain,—
Ye are mine and parts of me!
What am I? The stars have made me,
And the dust to which I cleave,
Rivers, and the hills that aid me,
Past and future, morn and eve,
Nightshade lightly plucked unknowing,
Roses fondly twined with rue,
Harvestings of mine own sowing,
And from fields I never knew!
I have gained mid loss and capture
Strength not found in vanquishing,
Sharing oft the mounting rapture,
Trailing oft the broken wing;
Kindred with the sunlight streaming
Where nor dew nor rain-drop gleams,
With the parchèd desert dreaming
Incommunicable dreams,
Laid in cavern-bed at even,
Throned on rose-flushed Apennine—
Multitudinous earth and heaven,
Naught ye hold that is not mine!