A VOYAGE TO THE FORTUNATE ISLES.
5
"Others He lifts to high estate—
Others, no peers of yours or mine.
He folds them in a silken fate,
Casts pearls before them—oh, the swine!
Drugs them with wine, veils them with lace;
And gives us this mean place."
Others, no peers of yours or mine.
He folds them in a silken fate,
Casts pearls before them—oh, the swine!
Drugs them with wine, veils them with lace;
And gives us this mean place."
"Well. May there not be butterflies
That lift with weary wings the air;
That loathe the foreign sun, which lies
On all their colours like despair;
That glitter, home-sick for the form
And lost sleep of the worm?"
That lift with weary wings the air;
That loathe the foreign sun, which lies
On all their colours like despair;
That glitter, home-sick for the form
And lost sleep of the worm?"
"Hush—see the ship. It comes at last,"
She whispered, through forlornest smiles:
"How brave it is! It sails so fast.
It takes us to the Fortunate Isles.
Come." Then the heart's great silence drew
Like Death around the Two.
She whispered, through forlornest smiles:
"How brave it is! It sails so fast.
It takes us to the Fortunate Isles.
Come." Then the heart's great silence drew
Like Death around the Two.
Death-like it was—through pain and doubt,
To leave their world at once and go,
Pale, mute, and even unconscious, out
Through dimness toward some distant Glow,
To leave their world at once and go,
Pale, mute, and even unconscious, out
Through dimness toward some distant Glow,
