Poems About Inspiration

And my native land, whose magical nameThrills to the heart like electric flame;The home of my childhood; the haunts of my prime;All the passions and scenes of that rapturous timeWhen the feelings were young, and the world was new,Like the fresh bowers of Eden unfolding to view;All, all now forsaken, forgotten, foregone!And I, a lone exile remembered of none,My high aims abandoned, my good acts undone,Aweary of all that is under the sun,With that sadness of heart which no stranger may scan,I fly to the desert afar from man.

Afar in the desert I love to ride,With the silent Bush-boy alone by my side!When the wild turmoil of this wearisome life,With its scenes of oppression, corruption, and strife,The proud man's frown, and the base man's fear,The scorner's laugh, and the sufferer's tear,And malice, and meanness, and falsehood, and folly,Dispose me to musing and dark melancholy;When my bosom is full, and my thoughts are high,And my soul is sick with the bondman's sigh,--O, then there is freedom, and joy, and pride,Afar in the desert alone to ride!There is rapture to vault on the champing steed,And to bound away with the eagle's speed,With the death-fraught firelock in my hand,--The only law of the Desert Land!

Afar in the desert I love to ride,With the silent Bush-boy alone by my side,Away, away from the dwellings of men,By the wild deer's haunt, by the buffalo's glen;By valleys remote where the oribi plays,Where the gnu, the gazelle, and the hartebeest graze,And the kudu and eland unhunted reclineBy the skirts of gray forest o'erhung with wild vine;Where the elephant browses at peace in his wood,And the river-horse gambols unscared in the flood,And the mighty rhinoceros wallows at willIn the fen where the wild ass is drinking his fill.

Afar in the desert I love to ride,With the silent Bush-boy alone by my side,O'er the brown karroo, where the bleating cryOf the springbok's fawn sounds plaintively;And the timorous quagga's shrill whistling neighIs heard by the fountain at twilight gray;Where the zebra wantonly tosses his mane.With wild hoof scouring the desolate plain;And the fleet-footed ostrich over the wasteSpeeds like a horseman who travels in haste,Hieing away to the home of her rest,Where she and her mate have scooped their nest,Far hid from the pitiless plunderer's viewIn the pathless depths of the parched karroo.

Afar in the desert I love to ride.With the silent Bush-boy alone by my side,Away, away, in the wilderness vastWhere the white man's foot hath never passed,And the quivered Coranna or BechuanHath rarely crossed with his roving clan,--A region of emptiness, howling and drear,Which man hath abandoned from famine and fear;Which the snake and the lizard inhabit alone,With the twilight bat from the yawning stone;Where grass, nor herb, nor shrub takes root,Save poisonous thorns that pierce the foot;And the bitter-melon, for food and drink,Is the pilgrim's fare by the salt lake's brink;A region of drought, where no river glides,Nor rippling brook with osiered sides;Where sedgy pool, nor bubbling fount,Nor tree, nor cloud, nor misty mount,Appears, to refresh the aching eye;But the barren earth and the burning sky,And the blank horizon, round and round,Spread,--void of living sight or sound.And here, while the night-winds round me sigh,And the stars burn bright in the midnight sky,As I sit apart by the desert stone,Like Elijah at Horeb's cave, alone,"A still small voice" comes through the wild(Like a father consoling his fretful child),Which banishes bitterness, wrath, and fear,Saying,--Man is distant, but God is near!

Could I but know where the waves had tossed her,Could I but know what storms had crossed her,Could I but know where the winds had lost her, Out in the twilight gray!

But though the storms her course have altered, Surely the port she'll win;Never my faith in my ship has faltered, I know she is coming in.For through the restless ways of her roaming,Through the mad rush of the wild waves foaming,Through the white crest of the billows combing, My ship is coming in.

Breasting the tides where the gulls are flying, Swiftly she's coming in;Shallows and deeps and rocks defying, Bravely she's coming in;Precious the love she will bring to bless me,Snowy the arms she will bring to caress me,In the proud purple of kings she will dress me. My ship that is coming in.

White in the sunshine her sails will be gleaming, See, where my ship comes in;At mast-head and peak her colors streaming, Proudly she's sailing in;Love, hope, and joy on her decks are cheering.Music will welcome her glad appearing.And my heart will sing at her stately nearing, When my ship comes in.

All the hard weather, Dead to the world, keep house unknown.

These are thy wonders, Lord of power,Killing and quickning, bringing down to hell And up to heaven in an houre;Making a chiming of a passing-bell. We say amisse This or that is: Thy word is all, if we could spell.

O that I once past changing were,Fast in thy paradise, where no flower can wither! Many a spring I shoot up fair,Off'ring at heav'n, growing and groning thither; Nor doth my flower Want a spring-showre, My sinnes and I joining together.

But, while I grow in a straight line,Still upwards bent, as if heav'n were mine own, Thy anger comes, and I decline:What frost to that? what pole is not the zone Where all things burn, When thou dost turn, And the least frown of thine is shown?

And now in age I bud again;After so many deaths I live and write; I once more smell the dew and rain,And relish versing: O my only light, It cannot be That I am he On whom thy tempests fell all night!

These are thy wonders, Lord of love,To make us see we are but flowers that glide; Which when we once can finde and prove,Thou hast a garden for us where to bide. Who would be more, Swelling through store, Forfeit their paradise by their pride.

Wondah why you evah come.I don't lak nobidy 'roun'Dat jes' shet dey mouf an' frown--Oh, now, man, don't act a dunce!Cain't you talk? I tol' you once, Speak up, Ike, an' 'spress yo'se'f.

Wha'd you come hyeah fu' to-night?Body'd t'ink yo' haid ain't right.I's done all dat I kin do--Dressed perticler, jes' fu' you;Reckon I'd a' bettah wo'My ol' ragged calico.Aftah all de pains I's took,Cain't you tell me how I look? Speak up, Ike, an' 'spress yo'se'f.

Bless my soul! I 'mos' fu'gotTellin' you 'bout Tildy Scott.Don't you know, come Thu'sday night,She gwine ma'y Lucius White?Miss Lize say I allus wuhHeap sight laklier 'n huh;An' she'll git me somep'n new,Ef I wants to ma'y too. Speak up, Ike, an' 'spress yo'se'f.

I could ma'y in a week,If de man I wants 'ud speak.Tildy's presents 'll be fine,But dey wouldn't ekal mine.Him whut gits me fu' a wife'll be proud, you bet yo' life.I's had offers, some ain't quit;But I hasn't ma'ied yit! Speak up, Ike, an' 'spress yo'se'f.

Ike, I loves you--yes, I does;You's my choice, and allus was.Laffin' at you ain't no harm--Go 'way, dahky, whah's yo' arm?Hug me closer--dah, da's right!Wasn't you a awful sight,Havin' me to baig you so?Now ax whut you want to know-- Speak up, Ike, an' 'spress yo'se'f.

Sighs for the perfect! Far and fair it lies; It hath no half-fed friendships perishing fleet,No partial insights, no averted eyes, No loves unmeet.

Something beyond! Light for our clouded eyes! In this dark dwelling, in its shrouded beams,Our best waits masked, few pierce the soul's disguise; How sad it seems!

Something beyond! Ah, if it were not so, Darker would be thy face, O brief To-day;Earthward we 'd bow beneath life's smiting woe, Powerless to pray.

Something beyond! The immortal morning stands Above the night; clear shines her precious brow;The pendulous star in her transfigured hands Brightens the Now.

The children of Savoy:And many an eye with rapture glowed,And saddest hearts forgot their load, And feeble souls grew strong again, So stirring was the brave refrain--Courage! courage, mon camarade!

Alone, with only silence there, Awaiting his life's welcome close,A sick man lay, when on the air That clarion arose;So sweet the thrilling cadence rang,It seemed to him an angel sang, And sang to him; and he would fain Have died upon that heavenly strain--Courage! courage, mon camarade!

A sorrow-stricken man and wife, With nothing left them but to pray,Heard streaming over their sad life That grand, heroic lay:And through the mist of happy tearsThey saw the promise-laden years; And in their joy they sang again, And carolled high the fond refrain--Courage! courage, mon camarade!

Two artists, in the cloud of gloom Which hung upon their hopes deferred,Resounding through their garret-room That noble chanson heard;And as the night before the dayTheir weak misgivings fled away; And with the burden of the strain They made their studio ring again--Courage! courage, mon camarade!

Two poets, who in patience wrought The glory of an aftertime,--Lords of an age which knew them not, Heard rise that lofty rhyme;And on their hearts it fell, as fallsThe sunshine upon prison-walls; And one caught up the magic strain And to the other sang again--Courage! courage, mon camarade!

And unto one, who, tired of breath, And day and night and name and fame,Held to his lips a glass of death, That song a savior came;Beseeching him from his despair,As with the passion of a prayer; And kindling in his heart and brain The valor of its blest refrain--Courage! courage, mon camarade!

O thou, with earthly ills beset, Call to thy lips those words of joy,And never in thy life forget The brave song of Savoy!For those dear words may have the powerTo cheer thee in thy darkest hour; The memory of that loved refrain Bring gladness to thy heart again!--Courage! courage, mon camarade!

And through the long and storm-tost centuries burn In changing calm and strifeThe Pharos-lights of truth, where'er we turn,-- The unquenched lamps of life.

O Love supreme! O Providence divine! What self-adjusting springsOf law and life, what even scales, are thine, What sure-returning wings

Of hopes and joys, that flit like birds away, When chilling autumn blows,But come again, long ere the buds of May Their rosy lips unclose!

What wondrous play of mood and accident Through shifting days and years;What fresh returns of vigor overspent In feverish dreams and fears!

What wholesome air of conscience and of thought When doubts and forms oppress;What vistas opening to the gates we sought Beyond the wilderness;

Beyond the narrow cells, where self-involved, Like chrysalids, we waitThe unknown births, the mysteries unsolved Of death and change and fate!

O Light divine! we need no fuller test That all is ordered well;We know enough to trust that all is best Where love and wisdom dwell.

She lived from a neighbor's hominy-pot;And praised the Lord, if "the pain" passed by;From the earthen floor the smoke curled outThrough shingles patched with the bright blue sky.

"Aunt Phillis, you live here all alone?"I asked, and pitied the gray old head;Sure as a child, in quiet tone,"Me and Jesus, Massa," she said.

I started, for all the place was aglowWith a presence I had not seen before;The air was full of a music low,And the Guest Divine stood at the door!

Ay, it was true that the Lord of Life,Who seeth the widow give her mite,Had watched this slave in her weary strife,And shown himself to her longing sight.

The hut and the dirt, the rags and the skin,The grovelling want and the darkened mind,--I looked on this; but the Lord, within:I would what he saw was in me to find!

A childlike soul, whose faith had forceTo see what the angels see in bliss:She lived, and the Lord lived; so, of course,They lived together,--she knew but this.

And the life that I had almost despisedAs something to pity, so poor and low,Had already borne fruit that the Lord so prizedHe loved to come near and see it grow.

No sorrow for her that life was done:A few more days of the hut's unrest,A little while longer to sit in the sun,--Then--He would be host, and she would be guest!

And up above, if an angel of lightShould stop on his errand of love some dayTo ask, "Who lives in the mansion bright?""Me and Jesus," Aunt Phillis will say.

A fancy, foolish and fond, does it seem?And things are not as Aunt Phillises dream?

Friend, surely so! For this I know,--That our faiths are foolish by falling below,Not coming above, what God will show;That his commonest thing hides a wonder vast,To whose beauty our eyes have never passed;That his face in the present, or in the to-be,Outshines the best that we think we see.