New-York tribune. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1866-1924, 1889-07-25
" HOY I CONSULTED THE ORACLE OF TIE
GOLDFISHES."
from Lowelps New Poem in The Atlantic.

I'M Lowelps New Poem in The Atlantic.
IRIS moro than sixty years ago
Since first watched your TO andre,
Two generations come and gone
From silence TO OBLIVION,
with All their noisy strife and stress
Iulled in the graves fOrgivingheSs,
While you unquenchably survive
Immortal, almost more alive.
I watched you then a curious boy,
Who in your beauty found tuI JOYS
And by no prOblemdebts distreSt,
SAFE at life's board a welcome gLest:
You were my sisters pets; not Hlho'
But Property's dividing line
No hint OF dispoSsession drew
on any map my simplesse knew
o golden age, not yet dcthfOneo
What made me happy, that owned;
You were my wonders, you my Lars,
in darkling days my sun and STARS
And over you cntranced hung,
Too young to know that ! was young
Gazing with still unsated bliss,
My fanctes took some shape Ike .h Eou
Il have my world ana SO haNo 9ou'
tipy universe for Two,
bubble by the artist blown,
Scarcely more fragile than our owl, mic,
Where you have all whale couiu "Hh'
Happy as Eden's primal hsh.
Mama is drOpt you thrice day
From some kind heaven not far away,
And still you snatch its softenlng crunlps'
Nor more than we, think whence II comes
No toll seems yours but TO explore
Your clolstered realm from shore 10 snor''
Sometimes its limpid depths you souhd'
Or hover motonless midway,
like pofd-red clouds at set OF day
Frelo,g you whrl with sudden whlm
on TO your globes most distant rim.
Where, greatened by the walery iehs'
Methinks no dragon of the lens ms stv
Flashed hugcr scales against me shy'
Roused by Sir Bevis or Sir Guy,
And The one eye that meets my VIEW
Iidless and strangely largeing, 700,
like that Of conscience IN the uarAr
SearnS IN make its Single HlaIhS
What bengnant lot Is yours
THAT have an own About Of doors.
No words TO spell. no sums 10 DO,
No Nepos and no parlyvoo
How happy you without thought
OF such cross things as Must and Ought
| too the happlest OF boys
To see and share your golden JoysT
So thought the child, in simpler words.
OF YOU his fnny flocbs and herds,
Now. an old man. bid you rise
To the fine sight behind the eyes,
And To- YOU float and Hash again
In the darn cistern Of nv brain.
But DER your visOned hameS oroou
With other mien. in other mood
Yon ar, no longer there TO please
Bur 10 stir argument and tease
Nv thought with all the ghostly shapes
From which no moody man escapes
diminished creature. I no more
Find FARMLAND beside my door.
But for each moments pleasure nav
With the quart d'heure of Rabelaisi
! watch YOU in your crystal spheres
And wonder II you see and hear
Those shapes and sounds that STIR the wids
Contecture of world outside;
In Your pent lives. We I'm ours,
Have YOU surmises dim of powers,
OF preSences obscurely shown,
OF lives a riddle 10 your own,
Just on the senses' outer verge.
Where sense-nerves into sOulnerves MERGE
Where we cOnspire our own deceit
Confederate in def Fancy's feat.
And the fooled brain befOOls the eyes
VI ontrN nf ~ n taC
R,t are they Hes? Why more than those
PhantOms that startle your repose,
Half seem half heard. then fit away.
And leave YOU your proSe-bounded day.