Towards democracy

506 Towards Democracy

Nor disdainest even to give the old millwheel a turn as thou goest, or bring me a tiny thought or two from thy store in cloudland,

Little brook, so strange, so mystical,

That all things love—though they know not what thy Name is.

I see where thou passest graciously by, and hastenest seaward,

Scattering once more thy waters to earth and heaven;

And I pray thee take again these thoughts thou hast brought me,

And bear away on thy bosom, and scatter them likewise.

Lo! wHat A Wortp I Create

! O! what a world I create for my own, my lovers.

As the moonbeams in winter gliding along the forest glades reveal the beauty of the trees—the hushed soft masses of light and darkness, the mysterious depths, the thousand fairy outlines—all merged and blent in one serene Presence ;

As a figure dimly seen, from glade to glade, from perspective to perspective, through the wilderness wanders content —his soul with the forest-soul mated ;

‘So dear friends, dear lovers, through this world of mine that I weave for you here, methinks sometimes I’ see you moving.

And I wait of you that in time you also spread worlds equally beautiful, more beautiful, for me,