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To the silken foot that's scarce be-Till thou shalt find a queen-hand

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Up from thy sweet mouth,-up to I never was worthy of you, Douglas;

thy brow,

Philip, my king!

The spirit that there lies sleeping

now

May rise like a giant and make men bow

As to one heaven-chosen amongst his peers:

My Saul, than thy brethren taller and fairer

Let me behold thee in future years;
Yet thy head needeth a circlet rarer,
Philip, my king.

A wreath not of gold, but palm.
One day,

Philip, my king, Thou too must tread, as we trod, a way

Thorny and cruel and cold and gray: Rebels within thee and foes without, Will snatch at thy crown. But march on, glorious,

Martyr, yet monarch; till angels shout [victorious, As thou sit'st at the feet of God "Philip, the king!"

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Not half worthy the like of you: Now all men beside seem to me like

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And miles away, on fields and The whispering winds of summer

streams,

Or where the woods the hilltop

crown,

The monumental temple gleams, A landmark to each neighboring town.

Nor this alone; New England knows A deeper meaning in the pride Whose stately architecture shows How Harvard's children fought and died.

Therefore this hallowed pile recalls The heroes, young and true and brave,

Who gave their memories to these walls,

Their lives to fill the soldier's grave.

The farmer, as he drives his team To market in the morn, afar Beholds the golden sunrise gleam Upon thee, like a glistening star.

And gazing. he remembers well Why stands yon tower so fair and tall.

His sons perhaps in battle fell;

For him, too, shines Memorial
Hall.

And sometimes as the student glides Along the winding Charles, and sees Across the flats thy glowing sides

Above the elms and willow-trees,

Upon his oar he'll turn and pause,
Remembering the heroic aims
Of those who linked their country's

cause

In deathless glory with their names.

And as against the moonlit sky
The shadowy mass looms overhead,
Well may we linger with a sigh

Beneath the tablets of the dead.

The snow-drifts on thy roof shall wreathe

Their crowns of virgin white for them;

breathe

At morn and eve their requiem.

For them the Cambridge bells shall chime

Across the noises of the town; The cannon's peal recall their time Of stern resolve and brief renown.

Concord and Lexington shall still, Like deep to deep, to Harvard call; The tall gray shaft on Bunker Hill Speak greetings to Memorial Hall.

Oh, never may the land forget

Her loyal sons who died that we Might live, remembering still our debt,

The costly price of Liberty!

THOUGHT.

THOUGHT is deeper than all speech, Feeling deeper than all thought; Souls to souls can never teach What unto themselves was taught.

We are spirits clad in veils; Man by man was never seen; All our deep communing fails To remove the shadowy screen.

Heart to heart was never known;
Mind with mind did never meet;
We are columns left alone
Of a temple once complete.

Like the stars that gem the sky,
Far apart though seeming near,
In our light we scattered lie;
All is thus but starlight here.

What is social company
But a babbling summer stream?
What our wise philosophy
But the glancing of a dream?

Only when the sun of love
Melts the scattered stars of thought,
Only when we live above
What the dim-eyed world hath
taught;

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