us again.
Teach us to write, and writing, to be men.

Michelangelo

Would I might wake in you the whirl-wind soul
Of Michelangelo, who hewed the stone
And Night and Day revealed, whose arm alone
Could draw the face of God, the titan high
Whose genius smote like lightning from the sky--
And shall he mold like dead leaves in the grave?
Nay he is in us! Let us dare and dare.
God help us to be brave.

Titian

Would that such hills and cities round us sang,
Such vistas of the actual earth and man
As kindled Titian when his life began;
Would that this latter Greek could put his gold,
Wisdom and splendor in our brushes bold
Till Greece and Venice, children of the sun,
Become our every-day, and we aspire
To colors fairer far, and glories higher.

Lincoln

Would I might rouse the Lincoln in you all,
That which is gendered in the wilderness
From lonely prairies and God's tenderness.
Imperial soul, star of a weedy stream,
Born where the ghosts of buffaloes still dream,
Whose spirit hoof-beats storm above his grave,
Above that breast of earth and prairie-fire--
Fire that freed the slave.

The Cornfields

The cornfields rise above mankind,
Lifting white torches to the blue,
Each season not ashamed to be
Magnificently decked for you.

What right have you to call them yours,
And in brute lust of riches burn
Without some radiant penance wrought,
Some beautiful, devout return?

Sweet Briars of the Stairways

We are happy all the time
Even when we fight:
Sweet briars of the stairways,
Gay fairies of the grime;
WE, WHO ARE PLAYING TO-NIGHT.

"Our feet are in the gutters,
Our eyes are sore with dust,
But still our eyes are bright.
The wide street roars and mutters--
We know it works because it must--
WE, WHO ARE PLAYING TO-NIGHT!

"Dirt is everlasting.-- We never, never fear it.
Toil is never ceasing.-- We will play until we near it.
Tears are never ending.-- When once real tears have come;

"When we see our people as they are--
Our fathers--broken, dumb--
Our mothers--broken, dumb--
The weariest of women and of men;
Ah--then our eyes will lose their light--
Then we will never play again--
WE, WHO ARE PLAYING TO-NIGHT."

Fantasies and Whims:--

The Fairy Bridal Hymn

[This is the hymn to Eleanor, daughter of Mab and a g