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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.
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.
So many worlds, so much to do,
The fame is quench'd that I foresaw,
The head hath miss'd an earthly wreath: I curse not nature, no, nor death; For nothing is that errs from law.
We pass; the path that each man trod
O hollow wraith of dying fame,
Fade wholly, while the soul exults, And self-infolds the large results Of force that would have forged a name.
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,
I see thee what thou art, and know
But there is more than I can see,
Nor speak it, knowing Death has made His darkness beautiful with thee.
This truth came borne with bier and pall,
Sweet after showers, ambrosial air,
The round of space, and rapt below
Thro' all the dewy-tassell'd wood,
The fever from my cheek, and sigh
The full new life that feeds thy breath Throughout my frame, till Doubt and Death, Ill brethren, let the fancy fly
From belt to belt of crimson seas
Risest thou thus, dim dawn, again,
So loud with voices of the birds, So thick with lowings of the herds, Day, when I lost the flower of men; Jiriczek, Englische Dichter.
Who tremblest thro' thy darkling red
Who murmurest in the foliaged eaves
Who wakenest with thy balmy breath
O wheresoever those may be,
Betwixt the slumber of the poles, To-day they count as kindred souls; They know me not, but mourn with me.
Who loves not Knowledge? Who shall rail Against her beauty? May she mix.
With men and prosper! Who shall fix Her pillars? Let her work prevail.
But on her forehead sits a fire:
She sets her forward countenance And leaps into the future chance, Submitting all things to desire.
Half-grown as yet, a child, and vain—
Of Demons? fiery-hot to burst
All barriers in her onward race
A higher hand must make her mild,
For she is earthly of the mind,
But Wisdom heavenly of the soul. O, friend, who camest to thy goal So early, leaving me behind,
I would the great world grew like thee,
There rolls the deep where grew the tree.
There where the long street roars, hath been The stillness of the central sea.
The hills are shadows, and they flow
But in my spirit will I dwell,
And dream my dream, and hold it true;
I cannot think the thing farewell.