Purchase of this book includes free trial access to www.million-books.com where you can read more than a million books for free. This is an OCR edition with typos. Excerpt from book: That the ill world cared; While with clamor and wrong, She lifts the brute victors Of Mammon along. Dead in the dust, With never a care for him; Save some day the green wreath That the world's heart will wear for him. When there 'mid her hours That are truest and latest, She recalls, with dumb grieving, The voice of her greatest. The Heart of Song Too much of sameness dulls our sense, Which, like a bowstringj should be tense, Ta send those arrows swift and clear, To cleave the ether of the sphere, And strike the living heart of song, And from the electric centre thrill the listening throng. Too little of the love we feel, Too little of the hate we know; Where we should pray, we only kneel, And all the real life forego. How can our song be true and loud, And lifted to the morning cloud, Across the fields of sunlit dew? £ How can we strike the lyre of life, And sound the future's battle-strife, Unless our hearts be vibrant, too? O, would that poets' songs might fling, Like dews from off the rosebud's wing, Odors of life's awakening: And never on the heart's best harpstrings The splendor of the world's great lyric joy! Genius I Built a house one wondrous night, From splendid ruins of my soul, And filled it with the sound and light That girdles earth from pole to pole. Its walls of whitest marble there, A frozen, clustered splendor grew, And all things beauteous and rare Gladdened its perfect chambers through. Strange relics of gone olden days, Of ancient peoples, times and kings, In those rare chambers met my gaze, And gave me vast imaginings. All glories of earth's richest art, The painter's thought, the sculptor's dream, Eelic of all the wide world's mart Blazoned beneath the moo...