66
THE ANCIENT SAGE.
To northward—some that never set, but pass
From sight and night to lose themselves in day.
I hate the black negation of the bier,
And wish the dead, as happier than ourselves
And higher, having climb'd one step beyond
Our village miseries, might be borne in white
To burial or to burning, hymn'd from hence
With songs in praise of death, and crown'd with flowers!
From sight and night to lose themselves in day.
I hate the black negation of the bier,
And wish the dead, as happier than ourselves
And higher, having climb'd one step beyond
Our village miseries, might be borne in white
To burial or to burning, hymn'd from hence
With songs in praise of death, and crown'd with flowers!
"O worms and maggots of to-day
Without their hope of wings!"
Without their hope of wings!"
But louder than thy rhyme the silent Word
Of that world-prophet in the heart of man.
Of that world-prophet in the heart of man.
"Tho' some have gleams or so they say
Of more than mortal things."
Of more than mortal things."
