Review+of+poems.

== My future will not copy fair my past On any leaf but Heaven's. Be fully done  Supernal Will ! I would not fain be one Who, satisfying thirst and breaking fast,  Upon the fullness of the heart at last  Says no grace after meat. My wine has run Indeed out of my cup, and there is none  To gather up the bread of my repast  Scattered and trampled; yet I find some good  In earth's green herbs, and streams that bubble up  Clear from the darkling ground,--content until  I sit with angels before better food: --  Dear Christ ! when thy new vintage fills my cup, This hand shall shake no more, nor that wine spill. ==

== Said a people to a poet---" Go out from among us straightway! While we are thinking earthly things, thou singest of divine.  There's a little fair brown nightingale, who, sitting in the gateways  Makes fitter music to our ears than any song of thine!" The poet went out weeping---the nightingale ceased chanting; "Now, wherefore, O thou nightingale, is all thy sweetness done?" I cannot sing my earthly things, the heavenly poet wanting, Whose highest harmony includes the lowest under sun."  The poet went out weeping,---and died abroad, bereft there---  The bird flew to his grave and died, amid a thousand wails:---  And, when I last came by the place, I swear the music left there  Was only of the poet's song, and not the nightingale's. ==

== I count the dismal time by months and years Since last I felt the green sward under foot,  And the great breath of all things summer-  Met mine upon my lips. Now earth appears As strange to me as dreams of distant spheres  Or thoughts of Heaven we weep at. Nature's lute Sounds on, behind this door so closely shut,  A strange wild music to the prisoner's ears,  Dilated by the distance, till the brain  Grows dim with fancies which it feels too  While ever, with a visionary pain,  Past the precluded senses, sweep and Rhine  Streams, forests, glades, and many a golden train  Of sunlit hills transfigured to Divine. ==