Volume I Part 29 (2/2)
A rain of dew till, wetted so, The child who held the branch let go And it sw.a.n.g backward with a flow
Of faster drippings. Then I knew The children laughed; but the laugh flew From its own chirrup as might do
A frightened song-bird; and a child Who seemed the chief said very mild, ”Hus.h.!.+ keep this morning undefiled.”
His eyes rebuked them from calm spheres, His soul upon his brow appears In waiting for more holy years.
I called the child to me, and said, ”What are your palms for?” ”To be spread,”
He answered, ”on a poet dead.
”The poet died last month, and now The world which had been somewhat slow In honouring his living brow,
”Commands the palms; they must be strown On his new marble very soon, In a procession of the town.”
I sighed and said, ”Did he foresee Any such honour?” ”Verily I cannot tell you,” answered he.
”But this I know, I fain would lay My own head down, another day, As _he_ did,--with the fame away.
”A lily, a friend's hand had plucked, Lay by his death-bed, which he looked As deep down as a bee had sucked,
”Then, turning to the lattice, gazed O'er hill and river and upraised His eyes illumined and amazed
”With the world's beauty, up to G.o.d, Re-offering on their iris broad The images of things bestowed
”By the chief Poet. 'G.o.d!' he cried, 'Be praised for anguish which has tried, For beauty which has satisfied:
”'For this world's presence half within And half without me--thought and scene-- This sense of Being and Having Been.
”'I thank Thee that my soul hath room For Thy grand world: both guests may come-- Beauty, to soul--Body, to tomb.
”'I am content to be so weak: Put strength into the words I speak, And I am strong in what I seek.
”'I am content to be so bare Before the archers, everywhere My wounds being stroked by heavenly air.
”'I laid my soul before Thy feet That images of fair and sweet Should walk to other men on it.
”'I am content to feel the step Of each pure image: let those keep To mandragore who care to sleep.
”'I am content to touch the brink Of the other goblet and I think My bitter drink a wholesome drink.
”'Because my portion was a.s.signed Wholesome and bitter, Thou art kind, And I am blessed to my mind.
”'Gifted for giving, I receive The maythorn and its scent outgive: I grieve not that I once did grieve.
”'In my large joy of sight and touch Beyond what others count for such, I am content to suffer much.
”'_I know_--is all the mourner saith, Knowledge by suffering entereth, And Life is perfected by Death.'”
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