George Willis Cooke, comp. The Poets of Transcendentalism: An Anthology. 1903.
ForceEdward Rowland Sill (18411887)
T
They do not tell;
And morn brings a message
Hidden well.
A tint on the wing,
And the bright wind whistles,
And the pulses sting.
There ’s light ahead;
This world ’s for the living;
Not for the dead.
On the loud pave,
The life-tide is running,
Like a leading wave.
As noon draws near,
No room for loiterers,
No time for fear.
Earth smiles as well;
Gold-crusted grain-fields,
With sweet, warm smell;
Like a giant bee;
Like a Titan cricket,
Thrilling with glee.
Pavement or plain;
On azure mountain,
Or azure main—
Lost is but won;
Goes the good rain-cloud,
Comes the good sun!
And sick men wail,
And faint hearts and feeble hearts
And weaklings fail.
Let the boat swing;
There was never winter
But brought the spring.