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he felt smooth Nature's grace, Drew her to breast and kissed her sweetheart face: His heart found neighbors in great hills and trees And streams and clouds and suns and birds and bees, And throbbed with neighbor-loves in loving these. But oh, the poor! the poor! the poor! That stand by the inward-opening door Trade's hand doth tighten ever more, And sigh with a monstrous foul-air sigh For the outside heaven of liberty, Where Nature spreads her wild blue sky For Art to make into melody! Thou Trade! thou king of the modern days! Change thy ways, Change thy ways; Let the sweaty laborers file A little while, A little while, Where Art and Nature sing and smile. Trade! is thy heart all dead, all dead? And hast thou nothing but a head? I'm all for heart," the flute-voice said, And into sudden silence fled, Like as a blush that while 'tis red Dies to a still, still white instead. Thereto a thrilling calm succeeds, Till presently the silence breeds A little breeze among the reeds That seems to blow by sea-marsh weeds: Then from the gentle stir and fret Sings out the melting clarionet, Like as a lady sings while yet Her eyes with salty tears are wet. "O Trade! O Trade!" the Lady said, "I too will wish thee utterly dead If all thy heart is in thy head. For O my God! and O my God! What shameful ways have women trod At beckoning of Trade's golden rod! Alas when sighs are traders' lies, And heart's-ease eyes and violet eyes Are merchandise! O purchased lips that kiss with pain! O cheeks coin-spotted with smirch and stain! O trafficked hearts that break in twain! --And yet what wonder at my sisters' crime? So hath Trade withered up Love's sinewy prime, Men love not women as in olden time. Ah, not in these cold merchantable days Deem men their life an opal gray, where plays The one red sweet of gracious ladies' praise. Now comes a suitor with sharp prying eye-- Says, _Here, you Lady, if you'll sell, I'll buy: Come, heart for heart--a trade? What! weeping? why?_ Shame on such wooers' dapper mercery! I would my lover kneeling at my feet In humble manliness should cry, _O sweet! I know not if thy heart my heart will meet: I ask not if thy love my love can greet: Whatever thy worshipful soft tongue shall say, I'll kiss thine answer, be it yea or nay: I do but know I love thee
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