100
POEMS.
"Ho here! Ho there! Has no man seen
The king?" The cry ran to and fro;
Beggar and king, they laughed, I ween,
The laugh that free men know.
The king?" The cry ran to and fro;
Beggar and king, they laughed, I ween,
The laugh that free men know.
On the king's gate the moss grew gray;
The king came not. They called him dead:
And made his eldest son one day
Slave in his father's stead.
The king came not. They called him dead:
And made his eldest son one day
Slave in his father's stead.
MY NEW FRIEND.
SHALLOW voice said, bitterly, "New friend!"As if the old alone were true, and, born
Of sudden freak, the new deserved but scorn.
And deep distrust.
If love could condescend,
What scorn in turn! Do men old garments mend
With new? And put the new wine, red at morn,
Into the last year's bottles, thin and worn?
But love and loving need not to defend
Themselves. The new is older than the old;
And newest friend is oldest friend in this,
That, waiting him, we longest grieved to miss
One thing we sought.
I think when we behold
Full Heaven, we say not, "Why was this not told?"
But, "Ah! For years we 've waited for this bliss!"
