Your head is wild with books, Sybil,
     But your heart is good and kind—
I feel a new contentment near you,
     A pleasure of the mind.

Glad should I be to sit beside you,
     And let long hours glide by,
Reading, through all your sweet narrations,
     The language of your eye.

Since the maternal saint I worshipped
     Did look and love her last,
No woman o’er my wayward spirit
     Such gentle spell has cast.

Oh! tell me of your varied fortunes,
     For you know not, from your face
Looks out strange sadness, lit with rapture,
     And melancholy grace.

You are a gem, whose native brilliance
     Could never wholly reign,
An opal, whose prismatic fire
     A white cloud doth restrain.

And thus, the mood to which you move me
     Is never perfect, quite,
‘Tis pity, wonderment, and pleasure,
     Opacity and light.

Bear me then in your presence, Sybil,
     And leave your hand in mine,
For, though human be my nature,
     You’ve made it half divine. 

This poem is in the public domain.

It is time to explain myself—let us stand up.

What is known I strip away,
I launch all men and women forward with me into the Unknown.

The clock indicates the moment—but what does eternity indicate?

We have thus far exhausted trillions of winters and summers,
There are trillions ahead, and trillions ahead of them.

Births have brought us richness and variety,
And other births will bring us richness and variety.

I do not call one greater and one smaller,
That which fills its period and place is equal to any.

Were mankind murderous or jealous upon you, my brother, my sister?
I am sorry for you, they are not murderous or jealous upon me,
All has been gentle with me, I keep no account with lamentation,
(What have I to do with lamentation?)

I am an acme of things accomplish'd, and I an encloser of things to be.

My feet strike an apex of the apices of the stairs,
On every step bunches of ages, and larger bunches between the steps,
All below duly travel'd, and still I mount and mount.

Rise after rise bow the phantoms behind me,
Afar down I see the huge first Nothing, I know I was even there,
I waited unseen and always, and slept through the lethargic mist,
And took my time, and took no hurt from the fetid carbon.

Long I was hugg'd close—long and long.

Immense have been the preparations for me,
Faithful and friendly the arms that have help'd me.

Cycles ferried my cradle, rowing and rowing like cheerful boatmen,
For room to me stars kept aside in their own rings,
They sent influences to look after what was to hold me.

Before I was born out of my mother generations guided me,
My embryo has never been torpid, nothing could overlay it.

For it the nebula cohered to an orb,
The long slow strata piled to rest it on,
Vast vegetables gave it sustenance,
Monstrous sauroids transported it in their mouths and deposited it with care.

All forces have been steadily employ'd to complete and delight me,
Now on this spot I stand with my robust soul.

This poem is in the public domain.