No tenderest charm away, and she shall live
A lonely star, a gust of music sweet,
A voice upon the Deep, a mystery!
But in the night, I know, the lonely wind
Shall sigh of her, the restless ocean moan
Her name with immemorial murmurings,
And the sad golden summer moon shall mourn
With me, and through the gloom of rustling leaves
The shaken throats of nightingales shall bring
Her low voice back, the incense of the fields
Recall too well the odour of her hair.
But lo, the heart doth bury all its dead,
As mother Earth her unremembered leaves;
So the sad hour shall pass, and with the dawn
Serene I shall look down where hills and seas
Throb through their dome of brooding hyaline
And see from Athens gold to Indus gray
New worlds awaiting me, and gladly go,—
Go down among the toilers of the earth
And seek the rest, the deeper peace that comes
Of vast endeavour and the dust of strife.
There my calm soul shall know itself, and watch
The golden-sandalled Seasons come and go,
Still god-like in its tasks of little things;
And, woven not with grandeurs and red wars,
Wanting somewhat in gold and vermeil, shall
The Fates work out my life’s thin tapestry,
As sorrow brings me wisdom, and the pang
Of solitude, O Ares, keeps me strong!
8
