Poems (Piatt)/Volume 2/That New World
< Poems (Piatt) | Volume 2
THAT NEW WORLD.
How gracious we are to grant to the dead
Those wide, vague lands in the foreign sky,
Reserving this world for ourselves instead—
For we must live, though others must die!
Those wide, vague lands in the foreign sky,
Reserving this world for ourselves instead—
For we must live, though others must die!
And what is this world that we keep, I pray?
True, it has glimpses of dews and flowers;
Then Youth and Love are here and away,
Like mated birds—but nothing is ours.
True, it has glimpses of dews and flowers;
Then Youth and Love are here and away,
Like mated birds—but nothing is ours.
Ah, nothing indeed, but we cling to it all.
It is nothing to hear one's own heart beat,
It is nothing to see one's own tears fall;
Yet surely the breath of our life is sweet.
It is nothing to hear one's own heart beat,
It is nothing to see one's own tears fall;
Yet surely the breath of our life is sweet.
Yes, the breath of our life is so sweet, I fear
We were loth to give it for all we know
Of that charméd Country we hold so dear,
Far into whose beauty the breathless go.
We were loth to give it for all we know
Of that charméd Country we hold so dear,
Far into whose beauty the breathless go.
Yet certain we are, when we see them fade
Out of the pleasant light of the sun,
Of the sands of gold in the palm-leaf's shade,
And the strange, high jewels all these have won.
Out of the pleasant light of the sun,
Of the sands of gold in the palm-leaf's shade,
And the strange, high jewels all these have won.
You dare not doubt it, O soul of mine!
And yet, if these empty eyes could see
One, only one, from that voyage divine,
With something, anything, sure for me!
And yet, if these empty eyes could see
One, only one, from that voyage divine,
With something, anything, sure for me!
Ah, blow me the scent of one lily, to tell
That it grew outside of this world, at most;
Ah, show me a plume to touch, or a shell
That whispers of some unearthly coast!
That it grew outside of this world, at most;
Ah, show me a plume to touch, or a shell
That whispers of some unearthly coast!