The Portland daily press., 1876-08-09

In coign of the cliff between lowland and highland,
At the sea-down's edge between Yindward and lee,
Walled round with rocks as an inland island,
The ghost of garden fronts the sea,
A girdle Of brushwoOd and thorn ipcloses
Where the weeds that grew green from the graves of
Now lie dead.
The fields fall southwark, abrupt and broken,
To the low last edge Of the long lone land.
II step should sound or word be spoken.
Would ghost not rise at the strange guests hand?
So long have the gray bare walks lain guestless.
Through branches and brers it man make way,
He shall hnd no life but the ea-wind's, restless
Night and day.
The dense hard passage is blind and stifed
That crawls by track none turn to climb
To the str at waste place thar the years have red
OF all but the thorns that touched not of time.
The thorns he spares when the rose is taken;
The rocks are lett when be wastes the plain.
The wind that wanders. the weeds wind-shaken,
These remain
Not flower to be prest of the foot that falls not;
AS the heart of dead man the seed-plo are dry;
From the thicket OF thorns whence the nightingale
Could she call there were never rose to reply.
Rings but the note of q sea-bird's song;
Only the sun and the rain come hither,
Auyear long.
The sun burns sere and the rain dishevels
One gaunt, bleak blossom of scentess breath.
Only the wind here hoyers and revels
In o round where life seems barren as death.
Here there was laughing OF old there was weeping,
HAPPY. Of lovers none ever will know;
Whose eyes went seward a hundred sleeping
Years ago.
Heart handfast in heart as they stood, "Look
Did be whisper? "Look forth from the flowers to
For the loan flowers endure when the rose-blossoms
And men that love lightly may debut wea"
And the tame wind sang and the same waves whit
And or ever the gardens last petals were shed,
In the lips that had whispered, the eyes that had
Love was dead.
Or they loved their lille through, and then went
And were one to the end-but what end who
Love deep as the sea as rose must wither,
AS the rose red seaweed that mocks the rose.
Shall the dead take thought for the dead to love
What love was ever as deep as grave?
They are loveless now as the grass above them
Or the wave.
All are at one now, roses and lovers,
Not known Of the cliffs and the fields of the sea.
Not breath of the time that has been hovers
In the air now soft with summer to be.
Not breath shall there sweeten the seasons here
OF the flowers or the lovers that laugh now or weep
When as they that are free now Of weeping and
laushtWsE s s0.,, .,se,.
Here death may deal not again forever;
Here change may come not till all change end
From the graves they have made they shall rise up
never,
Who have left nought living to ravage and rend.
Earth, stones, and thorns Of the wild ground grow
ing,
While the sun and the rain live, these shall be;
TIL last winds breath upon all these blowing
Roll the sea.
Till the slow sea rise and the sheer cliff crumble,
Till terrace and meadow the deep CULTS drink.
Till the strength of the waves OF the high tides hum
BILE
The fields that lessen, the rocks that shrink,
Here now in his triumph where all things falter,
Stretched out on the spois that his own hand
spread,
As god self-slain on his own strange altar,
Death lies dead.