Of things all mortal, or to use "Twere best at once to sink to peace, XXXV. Yet if some voice that man could trust Might I not say? "Yet even here, But for one hour, O Love, I strive To keep so sweet a thing alive:" But I should turn mine ears and hear The moanings of the homeless sea, The sound of streams that swift or slow Draw down Æonian hills, and sow The dust of continents to be; And Love would answer with a sigh, "The sound of that forgetful shore Will change my sweetness more and more, Half-dead to know that I shall die." O me, what profits it to put An idle case? If Death were seen Mere fellowship of sluggish moods, Had bruised the herb and crush'd the grape, And bask'd and batten'd in the woods. LIV. Oh yet we trust that somehow good To pangs of nature, sins of will, That nothing walks with aimless feet; That not a worm is cloven in vain; Behold, we know not anything; I can but trust that good shall fall So runs my dream: but what am I? LV. The wish, that of the living whole Are God and Nature then at strife, That Nature lends such evil dreams? So careful of the type she seems, So careless of the single life; That I, considering everywhere I falter where I firmly trod, And falling with my weight of cares Upon the great world's altar-stairs That slope thro' darkness up to God, I stretch lame hands of faith, and grope, LVI. "So careful of the type?" but no. "Thou makest thine appeal to me: I bring to life, I bring to death: The spirit does but mean the breath: I know no more." And he, shall he, Man, her last work, who seem'd so fair, Such splendid purpose in his eyes, Who roll'd the psalm to wintry skies, Who built him fanes of fruitless prayer, Who trusted God was love indeed And love Creation's final law Tho' Nature, red in tooth and claw With ravine, shriek'd against his creed— Who loved, who suffer'd countless ills, No more? A monster then, a dream, A discord. Dragons of the prime, That tare each other in their slime, Were mellow music match'd with him. O life as futile, then, as frail! O for thy voice to soothe and bless! What hope of answer, or redress? Behind the veil, behind the veil. LVII. Peace; come away: the song of woe Peace; come away: we do him wrong To sing so wildly: let us go. Come; let us go: your cheeks are pale; But half my life I leave behind: Methinks my friend is richly shrined; But I shall pass; my work will fail. Yet in these ears, till hearing dies, One set slow bell will seem to toll The passing of the sweetest soul That ever look'd with human eyes. I hear it now, and o'er and o'er, And "Ave, Ave, Ave," said, "Adieu, adieu" for evermore. LXXIII. So many worlds, so much to do, The fame is quench'd that I foresaw, We pass; the path that each man trod O hollow wraith of dying fame, LXXIV. As sometimes in a dead man's face, To those that watch it more and more, A likeness, hardly seen before, Comes out-to some one of his race: So, dearest, now thy brows are cold, But there is more than I can see, And what I see I leave unsaid, |