'Tis vain! in such a brassy age

I could not move a thistle;
The very sparrows in the hedge
Scarce answer to my whistle;
Or at the most, when three-parts-sick
With strumming and with scraping,
A jackass heehaws from the rick,
The passive oxen gaping.

But what is that I hear? a sound
Like sleepy counsel pleading:

O Lord! - 't is in my neighbor's ground,
The modern Muses reading.

They read Botanic Treatises,

And Works on Gardening through there,

And Methods of transplanting trees,
To look as if they grew there.

The withered Misses! how they prose
O'er books of travelled seamen,
And show you slips of all that grows
From England to Van Diemen.
They read in arbors clipt and cut,
And alleys, faded places,

By squares of tropic summer shut,

And warmed in crystal cases.

But these, though fed with careful dirt,
Are neither green nor sappy;
Half-conscious of the garden-squirt,
The poor things look unhappy.
Better to me the meanest weed

That blows upon its mountain,
The vilest herb that runs to seed
Beside its native fountain.

And I must work through months of toil,

And years of cultivation,
Upon my proper patch of soil,
To grow my own plantation.
I'll take the showers as they fall,
I will not vex my bosom :
Enough, if at the end of all

A little garden blossom.

ST. AGNES.

I.

DEEP on the convent-roof the snows
Are sparkling to the moon:

My breath to heaven like vapor goes:
May my soul follow soon!

The shadows of the convent-towers
Slant down the snowy sw rd,

Still creeping with the creep ing hours
That lead me to my Lord :

Make Thou my spirit pure and clear

As are the frosty skies,

Or this first snowdrop of the year

That in my bosom lies.

II.

As these white robes are soiled and dark,

To yonder shining ground;

As this pale taper's earthly spark,

To yonder argent round;

So shows my soul before the Lamb,
My spirit before Thee;

So in mine earthly house I am,

To that I hope to be.

Break up the heavens, oh Lord! and far, Through all yon starlight keen,

Draw me, thy bride, a glittering star,

In raiment white and clean.

III.

He lifts me to the golden doors;
The flashes come and go;

All heaven bursts her starry floors,
And strews her lights below,
And deepens on and up! the gates
Roll back, and far within

For me the Heavenly Bridegroom waits,
To make me pure of sin.
The sabbaths of Eternity,

One sabbath deep and wide
A light upon the shining sea-
The Bridegroom with his bride!

SIR GALAHAD.

I.

My good blade carves the casques of men,
My tough lance thrusteth sure,
My strength is as the strength of ten,
Because my heart is pure.

The shattering trumpet shrilleth high,
The hard brands shiver on the steel,
The splintered spear-shafts crack and fly,
The horse and rider reel :

They reel, they roll in clanging lists,

And when the tide of combat stands, Perfume and flowers fall in showers,

That lightly rain from ladies' hands.