L'envoi

        God willed, who never needed speech,
                "Let all things be:"
        And, lo, the starry firmament
                And land and sea
        And his first thought of life that lives
                In you and me.

        His circle of eternity
                We see in part;
        Our spirits are his breath, our hearts
                Beat from his heart;
        Hence we have played as little gods
                And called it art.

        Lacking his power, we shared his dream
                Of perfect things;
        Between the tents of hope and sweet
                Rememberings
        Have sat in ashes, but our souls
                Went forth on wings.

        Where life fell short of some desire
                In you and me,
        Feeling for beauty which our eyes
                Could never see,
        Behold, from out the void we willed
                That it should be,

        And sometimes dreamed our lisping songs
                Of humanhood
        Might voice his silent harmony
                Of waste and wood,
        And he, beholding his and ours,
                Might find it good.

John Charles McNeill

John Charles McNeill was a prominent American poet known for his works that vividly depicted the landscapes and spirit of North Carolina. Born on July 26, 1874, in Wagram, North Carolina, he won acclaim with his book 'Songs Merry and Sad,' which won the Patterson Cup in 1905. His poetry primarily reflects rural life and Southern traditions. Sadly, McNeill's promising career was cut short when he died on October 17, 1907, at the young age of 33.

John Charles McNeill

She Being Young

John Charles McNeill, Simple Poetry

Alcestis

John Charles McNeill, Simple Poetry

An Easter Hymn

John Charles McNeill, Simple Poetry

Home Songs

John Charles McNeill, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

Envoi

    Beloved, when my heart's awake to God
    And all the world becomes His testimony,
    In you I most do see, in your brave spirit,
    Erect and certain, flashing deeds of light,
    A pure jet from the fountain of all being,
    A scripture clearer than all else to read.

    And when belief was dead and God a myth,
    And the world seemed a wandering mote of evil,
    Endurable only by its impermanence,
    And all the planets perishable urns
    Of perished ashes, to you alone I clung
    Amid the unspeakable loneliness of the universe.

John Collings Squire, Sir

L' Envoi

Ye voices, that arose
After the Evening's close,
And whispered to my restless heart repose!

Go, breathe it in the ear
Of all who doubt and fear,
And say to them, "Be of good cheer!"

Ye sounds, so low and calm,
That in the groves of balm
Seemed to me like an angel's psalm!

Go, mingle yet once more
With the perpetual roar
Of the pine forest dark and hoar!

Tongues of the dead, not lost
But speaking from deaths frost,
Like fiery tongues at Pentecost!

Glimmer, as funeral lamps,
Amid the chills and damps
Of the vast plain where Death encamps!

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Vision

        The wintry sun was pale
            On hill and hedge;
        The wind smote with its flail
            The seeded sedge;
        High up above the world,
            New taught to fly,
        The withered leaves were hurled
            About the sky;
        And there, through death and dearth,
            It went and came,--
        The Glory of the earth
            That hath no name.

        I know not what it is;
            I only know
        It quivers in the bliss
            Where roses blow,
        That on the winter's breath
            It broods in space,
        And o'er the face of death
            I see its face,
        And start and stand between
            Delight and dole,
        As though m...

John Charles McNeill

L'Envoi - The Poet And His Songs

As the birds come in the Spring,
    We know not from where;
As the stars come at evening
    From depths of the air;

As the rain comes from the cloud,
    And the brook from the ground;
As suddenly, low or loud,
    Out of silence a sound;

As the grape comes to the vine,
    The fruit to the tree;
As the wind comes to the pine,
    And the tide to the sea;

As come the white sails of ships
    O'er the ocean's verge;
As comes the smile to the lips,
    The foam to the surge;

So come to the Poet his songs,
    All hitherward blown
From the misty realm, that belongs
    To the vast unknown.

His, and not his, are the lays
    He sings; and their fame
Is his, and not his; and the praise
    And the p...

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Love Eternal

The human heart will never change,
The human dream will still go on,
The enchanted earth be ever strange
With moonlight and the morning sun,
And still the seas shall shout for joy,
And swing the stars as in a glass,
The girl be angel for the boy,
The lad be hero for the lass.

The fashions of our mortal brains
New names for dead men's thoughts shall give,
But we find not for all our pains
Why 'tis so wonderful to live;
The beauty of a meadow-flower
Shall make a mock of all our skill,
And God, upon his lonely tower
Shall keep his secret - secret still.

The old magician of the skies,
With coloured and sweet-smelling things,
Shall charm the sense and trance the eyes,
Still onward through a million springs;
And nothing old and nothin...

Richard Le Gallienne

My Heart.

I heard, in darkness, on my bed,
    The beating of my heart
To servant feet and regnant head
    A common life impart,
By the liquid cords, in every thread
    Unbroken as they start.

Night, with its power to silence day,
    Filled up my lonely room;
All motion quenching, save what lay
    Beyond its passing doom,
Where in his shed the workman gay
    Went on despite the gloom.

I listened, and I knew the sound,
    And the trade that he was plying;
For backwards, forwards, bound and bound,
    'Twas a shuttle, flying, flying;
Weaving ever life's garment round,
    Till the weft go out with sighing.

I said, O mystic thing, thou goest
    On working in the dark;
In space's shoreless sea thou rowest,
    Concealed with...

George MacDonald