An Excerpt from the book-
I.
Though here fair blooms the rose and the woodbine waves on high,
And oak and elm and bracken frond enrich the rolling lea,
And winds as if from Arcady breathe joy as they go by,
Yet I yearn and I pine for my North Countrie.
I leave the drowsing south and in dreams I northward fly,
And walk the stretching moors that fringe the ever-calling sea;
And am gladdened as the gales that are so bitter-sweet go by,
While grey clouds sweetly darken o'er my North Countrie.
For there's music in the storms, and there's colour in the shades,
And there's joy e'en in the sorrow widely brooding o'er the sea;
And larger thoughts have birth among the moors and lowly glades
And reedy mounds and sands of my North Countrie.
II.
You who know what easeful arms
Silence winds about the dead,
Or what far-swept music charms
Hearts that were earth-wearied;
You who know--if aught be known
In that everlasting Hush
Where the life-born years are strewn,
Where the eyeless ages rush,--
Tell me, is it conscious rest
Heals the whilom hurt of life?
Or is Nirvana undistressed
E'en by memory of strife?
III.
_Metempsychosis._
When Grief comes this way by
With her wan lip and drooping eye,
Bid her welcome, woo her boldly;
Soon she'll look on thee less coldly.
Her tears soon cease to flow.
'Tis now not Grief but Joy we know;
From her smiling face the roses
Tell the glad metempsychosis.
IV.
Life with the sun in it--
Shaded by gloom!
Life with the fun in it--
Shadowed by Doom!
Life with its Love ever haunted by Hate!
Life's laughing morrows frowned over by Fate!
Young Life's wild gladness still waylaid by Age!
All its sweet badness still mocking the sage!
What can e'er measure the joy of its strife?
What boundless leisure
Count the heaped treasure
Of woe, that's the pleasure
And beauty of Life?
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