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Poem by Bliss Carman
I LORD of the grass and hill, Lord of the rain, White Overlord of will, Master of pain, I who am dust and air Blown through the halls of death, Like a pale ghost of prayer,— I am thy breath. Lord of the blade and leaf, Lord of the bloom, Sheer Overlord of grief, Master of doom, Lonely as wind or snow, Through the vague world and dim, Vagrant and glad I go; I am thy whim. Lord of the storm and lull, Lord of the sea, I am thy broken gull, Blown far alee. Lord of the harvest dew, Lord of the dawn, Star of the paling blue Darkling and gone, Lost on the mountain height Where the first winds are stirred, Out of the wells of night I am thy word. Lord of the haunted hush, Where raptures throng, I am thy hermit thrush, Ending no song. Lord of the frost and cold, Lord of the North, When the red sun grows old And day goes forth, I shall put off this girth,— Go glad and free, Earth to my mother earth, Spirit to thee. II Lord of my heart’s elation, Spirit of things unseen, Be thou my aspiration Consuming and serene! Bear up, bear out, bear onward This mortal soul alone, To selfhood or oblivion, Incredibly thine own,— As the foamheads are loosened And blown along the sea, Or sink and merge forever In that which bids them be. I, too, must climb in wonder, Uplift at thy command,— Be one with my frail fellows Beneath the wind’s strong hand, A fleet and shadowy column Of dust or mountain rain, To walk the earth a moment And be dissolved again. Be thou my exaltation Or fortitude of mien, Lord of the world’s elation Thou breath of things unseen!
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