HECTOR IN THE GARDEN.
89
XVI.
Oh, the birds, the tree, the ruddy
And white blossoms, sleek with rain!
Oh, my garden, rich with pansies!
Oh, my childhood's bright romances!
All revive, like Hector's body,
And I see them stir again!
XVII.
And despite life's changes—chances,
And despite the deathbell's toll,
They press on me in full seeming!—
Help, some angel! stay this dreaming!
As the birds sang in the branches,
Sing God's patience through my soul!
XVIII.
That no dreamer, no neglecter,
Of the present's work unsped,
I may wake up and be doing,
Life's heroic ends pursuing,
Though my past is dead as Hector,
And though Hector is twice dead.
