June, 1884.
THE·SIRENS·THREE
THE Mage of Naishapur in English tongueBeside the northern sea, I, wandering, read,With chaunt of breaking waves each verse was said,Till, storm-possessed, my heart in answer sung;And to the winds my ship of thoughts I flung,And drifted wide upon the ocean dreadOf space and time, ere thought and life were bred,Till Hope did cast the anchor, and I clung.The Book of Omar saw I limned in gold,And decked with vine and rose and pictured pause,Enwrought by hands of one well skilled and boldIn art and poesy and Freedom’s cause—Hope of humanity and equal laws—To him and to this hope be mine enscrolled.
THE Mage of Naishapur in English tongueBeside the northern sea, I, wandering, read,With chaunt of breaking waves each verse was said,Till, storm-possessed, my heart in answer sung;And to the winds my ship of thoughts I flung,And drifted wide upon the ocean dreadOf space and time, ere thought and life were bred,Till Hope did cast the anchor, and I clung.The Book of Omar saw I limned in gold,And decked with vine and rose and pictured pause,Enwrought by hands of one well skilled and boldIn art and poesy and Freedom’s cause—Hope of humanity and equal laws—To him and to this hope be mine enscrolled.
THE Mage of Naishapur in English tongueBeside the northern sea, I, wandering, read,With chaunt of breaking waves each verse was said,Till, storm-possessed, my heart in answer sung;And to the winds my ship of thoughts I flung,And drifted wide upon the ocean dreadOf space and time, ere thought and life were bred,Till Hope did cast the anchor, and I clung.
THE Mage of Naishapur in English tongue
Beside the northern sea, I, wandering, read,
With chaunt of breaking waves each verse was said,
Till, storm-possessed, my heart in answer sung;
And to the winds my ship of thoughts I flung,
And drifted wide upon the ocean dread
Of space and time, ere thought and life were bred,
Till Hope did cast the anchor, and I clung.
The Book of Omar saw I limned in gold,And decked with vine and rose and pictured pause,Enwrought by hands of one well skilled and boldIn art and poesy and Freedom’s cause—Hope of humanity and equal laws—To him and to this hope be mine enscrolled.
The Book of Omar saw I limned in gold,
And decked with vine and rose and pictured pause,
Enwrought by hands of one well skilled and bold
In art and poesy and Freedom’s cause—
Hope of humanity and equal laws—
To him and to this hope be mine enscrolled.
THE·SIRENS·THREE
LOST on a sleepless sea, without availMy soul’s ship drifted wide, with idle sailAnd slow pulsating oars, that night’s blue gulfBeat noiselessly to Time’s recurring tale.
LOST on a sleepless sea, without availMy soul’s ship drifted wide, with idle sailAnd slow pulsating oars, that night’s blue gulfBeat noiselessly to Time’s recurring tale.
LOST on a sleepless sea, without avail
My soul’s ship drifted wide, with idle sail
And slow pulsating oars, that night’s blue gulf
Beat noiselessly to Time’s recurring tale.
The rolling hours like waves broke, one by one,Upon the tide of thought time’s sands outrun,And cloudy visions hovered o’er my bed,Piled to the stars, full soon like cloud undone:
The rolling hours like waves broke, one by one,Upon the tide of thought time’s sands outrun,And cloudy visions hovered o’er my bed,Piled to the stars, full soon like cloud undone:
The rolling hours like waves broke, one by one,
Upon the tide of thought time’s sands outrun,
And cloudy visions hovered o’er my bed,
Piled to the stars, full soon like cloud undone:
As, like the wan moon through her fleecy sea,My spirit clove their rack unceasingly,And struck at last upon an unknown ground,More still than sleep, more strange than dreamlands be.
As, like the wan moon through her fleecy sea,My spirit clove their rack unceasingly,And struck at last upon an unknown ground,More still than sleep, more strange than dreamlands be.
As, like the wan moon through her fleecy sea,
My spirit clove their rack unceasingly,
And struck at last upon an unknown ground,
More still than sleep, more strange than dreamlands be.
The echoes of lost thoughts wild music made,Like Sirens, heard above the winds that played,Above the rhythmic waves’ tumultuous tone,Upon the hollows of that coast decayed.
The echoes of lost thoughts wild music made,Like Sirens, heard above the winds that played,Above the rhythmic waves’ tumultuous tone,Upon the hollows of that coast decayed.
The echoes of lost thoughts wild music made,
Like Sirens, heard above the winds that played,
Above the rhythmic waves’ tumultuous tone,
Upon the hollows of that coast decayed.
Yea, on the strand they stood, the Sirens three—No More, and golden Now, and dark To be,Whose vocal harps are love, and hope, and grief;To these they sang, and waved their hands to me.
Yea, on the strand they stood, the Sirens three—No More, and golden Now, and dark To be,Whose vocal harps are love, and hope, and grief;To these they sang, and waved their hands to me.
Yea, on the strand they stood, the Sirens three—
No More, and golden Now, and dark To be,
Whose vocal harps are love, and hope, and grief;
To these they sang, and waved their hands to me.
Who thence, unto the shore, escaping, clung,As from the dread insatiate ocean’s tongueThat lapped the barren sand, and evermore,Above its vain recoil, the Sisters sung.
Who thence, unto the shore, escaping, clung,As from the dread insatiate ocean’s tongueThat lapped the barren sand, and evermore,Above its vain recoil, the Sisters sung.
Who thence, unto the shore, escaping, clung,
As from the dread insatiate ocean’s tongue
That lapped the barren sand, and evermore,
Above its vain recoil, the Sisters sung.
Prone on that unknown land, outcast, forlorn,My soul lay; watching for the eyes of morn;As from a dying universe adrift,A naked life—to what dim world new born?
Prone on that unknown land, outcast, forlorn,My soul lay; watching for the eyes of morn;As from a dying universe adrift,A naked life—to what dim world new born?
Prone on that unknown land, outcast, forlorn,
My soul lay; watching for the eyes of morn;
As from a dying universe adrift,
A naked life—to what dim world new born?
All former things had passed, the sea’s salt tearsFrom Youths’ frail ship had washed false hopes and fears,And relics, treasured once, bestrewed the sand,Wrapped in the clinging weed the seamaid wears.
All former things had passed, the sea’s salt tearsFrom Youths’ frail ship had washed false hopes and fears,And relics, treasured once, bestrewed the sand,Wrapped in the clinging weed the seamaid wears.
All former things had passed, the sea’s salt tears
From Youths’ frail ship had washed false hopes and fears,
And relics, treasured once, bestrewed the sand,
Wrapped in the clinging weed the seamaid wears.
The bodies of lost Faith and Love, outcast,Spurned by the waves, and clinging to the mast,Were flung upon the shore, mid drift and wreck,—Time’s fragile shells, which frailer lives outlast.
The bodies of lost Faith and Love, outcast,Spurned by the waves, and clinging to the mast,Were flung upon the shore, mid drift and wreck,—Time’s fragile shells, which frailer lives outlast.
The bodies of lost Faith and Love, outcast,
Spurned by the waves, and clinging to the mast,
Were flung upon the shore, mid drift and wreck,—
Time’s fragile shells, which frailer lives outlast.
As at the world’s end left, the last of men,Or ere the first was sphered, beyond his ken,Was I, mid tumbled kosmic fragments cast—A babe at play within a mammoth’s den:
As at the world’s end left, the last of men,Or ere the first was sphered, beyond his ken,Was I, mid tumbled kosmic fragments cast—A babe at play within a mammoth’s den:
As at the world’s end left, the last of men,
Or ere the first was sphered, beyond his ken,
Was I, mid tumbled kosmic fragments cast—
A babe at play within a mammoth’s den:
Mid bones of power extinct, and its lost prey,With shreds and shards of unknown primal day—The formless Future, and the Past forgot,The broken statue, and the sculptor’s clay.
Mid bones of power extinct, and its lost prey,With shreds and shards of unknown primal day—The formless Future, and the Past forgot,The broken statue, and the sculptor’s clay.
Mid bones of power extinct, and its lost prey,
With shreds and shards of unknown primal day—
The formless Future, and the Past forgot,
The broken statue, and the sculptor’s clay.
The blue-breast bird of space his fan outspread,And shook the starry splendour o’er my head—A wood of eyes that wonder at the world,Glassed in the world’s eyes’ wonder, scanned and read:
The blue-breast bird of space his fan outspread,And shook the starry splendour o’er my head—A wood of eyes that wonder at the world,Glassed in the world’s eyes’ wonder, scanned and read:
The blue-breast bird of space his fan outspread,
And shook the starry splendour o’er my head—
A wood of eyes that wonder at the world,
Glassed in the world’s eyes’ wonder, scanned and read:
Each burning orb that did the sky emblazeUpon my spirit lone cast piercing gaze;World beyond world enringed, and suns aflameShot from night’s spangled cloud their storm of rays.
Each burning orb that did the sky emblazeUpon my spirit lone cast piercing gaze;World beyond world enringed, and suns aflameShot from night’s spangled cloud their storm of rays.
Each burning orb that did the sky emblaze
Upon my spirit lone cast piercing gaze;
World beyond world enringed, and suns aflame
Shot from night’s spangled cloud their storm of rays.
As doth the glass to one bright point intenseDraw the sun’s fervour to our shrinking sense;So, on my soul, the concentrated fireOf countless suns that moment did condense.
As doth the glass to one bright point intenseDraw the sun’s fervour to our shrinking sense;So, on my soul, the concentrated fireOf countless suns that moment did condense.
As doth the glass to one bright point intense
Draw the sun’s fervour to our shrinking sense;
So, on my soul, the concentrated fire
Of countless suns that moment did condense.
My brain, an instant’s Atlas, seemed to bearThe Universe immense, and all its care;For thought’s frail arms intolerable weight,Since Nature’s triumph still is Man’s despair.
My brain, an instant’s Atlas, seemed to bearThe Universe immense, and all its care;For thought’s frail arms intolerable weight,Since Nature’s triumph still is Man’s despair.
My brain, an instant’s Atlas, seemed to bear
The Universe immense, and all its care;
For thought’s frail arms intolerable weight,
Since Nature’s triumph still is Man’s despair.
Untilled, unknown, the trackless regions spreadWhich Thought, belated wanderer, doth tread,Where, like river flashing through the night,The milky way its myriad star-foam shed.
Untilled, unknown, the trackless regions spreadWhich Thought, belated wanderer, doth tread,Where, like river flashing through the night,The milky way its myriad star-foam shed.
Untilled, unknown, the trackless regions spread
Which Thought, belated wanderer, doth tread,
Where, like river flashing through the night,
The milky way its myriad star-foam shed.
Cast from what vital source—what teeming brain?By blind persistent force—from fiery rain?Suns, moons, and stars, transmuted, globed, and hung—The dew of Space upon its blue campaign:
Cast from what vital source—what teeming brain?By blind persistent force—from fiery rain?Suns, moons, and stars, transmuted, globed, and hung—The dew of Space upon its blue campaign:
Cast from what vital source—what teeming brain?
By blind persistent force—from fiery rain?
Suns, moons, and stars, transmuted, globed, and hung—
The dew of Space upon its blue campaign:
Trod by the feet of Time, as he doth go,A labourer night and morn to reap and sow—Who counts the glittering drops—the spheres that fall,Or marvels they should hold such weight of woe?
Trod by the feet of Time, as he doth go,A labourer night and morn to reap and sow—Who counts the glittering drops—the spheres that fall,Or marvels they should hold such weight of woe?
Trod by the feet of Time, as he doth go,
A labourer night and morn to reap and sow—
Who counts the glittering drops—the spheres that fall,
Or marvels they should hold such weight of woe?
Each drop a desert, or a battle-groundOf life in its arena ringed around,Where without quarter wears the endless war,Till Death the hunter slips his famished hound.
Each drop a desert, or a battle-groundOf life in its arena ringed around,Where without quarter wears the endless war,Till Death the hunter slips his famished hound.
Each drop a desert, or a battle-ground
Of life in its arena ringed around,
Where without quarter wears the endless war,
Till Death the hunter slips his famished hound.
Here, circling with the horses of the sun,Man’s fateful race from day to day is run;Bound in this narrow ring—his crown, his graveStill as the world for each is lost or won.
Here, circling with the horses of the sun,Man’s fateful race from day to day is run;Bound in this narrow ring—his crown, his graveStill as the world for each is lost or won.
Here, circling with the horses of the sun,
Man’s fateful race from day to day is run;
Bound in this narrow ring—his crown, his grave
Still as the world for each is lost or won.
Then, like a homeless one, my spirit turnedFor shelter ’neath the roofless void, and—spurnedFrom the star-desert to the stony one—Scanned the dark waste where yet no hearth fire burned:
Then, like a homeless one, my spirit turnedFor shelter ’neath the roofless void, and—spurnedFrom the star-desert to the stony one—Scanned the dark waste where yet no hearth fire burned:
Then, like a homeless one, my spirit turned
For shelter ’neath the roofless void, and—spurned
From the star-desert to the stony one—
Scanned the dark waste where yet no hearth fire burned:
But through the veil of night, around me there,Rose towering shapes clothed in the voiceless air,Like kings enthroned amid their powers’ decay—Statue, and ruined shrine, and temple bare:
But through the veil of night, around me there,Rose towering shapes clothed in the voiceless air,Like kings enthroned amid their powers’ decay—Statue, and ruined shrine, and temple bare:
But through the veil of night, around me there,
Rose towering shapes clothed in the voiceless air,
Like kings enthroned amid their powers’ decay—
Statue, and ruined shrine, and temple bare:
Dolmen, and sphinx, and Greek or Gothic fane,The shattered caskets of man’s winged brain,Whose flight hath left them empty, desolate,Sublime in ruin on the crumbling plain.
Dolmen, and sphinx, and Greek or Gothic fane,The shattered caskets of man’s winged brain,Whose flight hath left them empty, desolate,Sublime in ruin on the crumbling plain.
Dolmen, and sphinx, and Greek or Gothic fane,
The shattered caskets of man’s winged brain,
Whose flight hath left them empty, desolate,
Sublime in ruin on the crumbling plain.
The perished bodies frail that once did houseHis restless soul, and heard his sacred vowsTo his own likeness, dressed in speech or stone,Ere he forswore them for some fairer spouse.
The perished bodies frail that once did houseHis restless soul, and heard his sacred vowsTo his own likeness, dressed in speech or stone,Ere he forswore them for some fairer spouse.
The perished bodies frail that once did house
His restless soul, and heard his sacred vows
To his own likeness, dressed in speech or stone,
Ere he forswore them for some fairer spouse.
He sought for Truth, and cried, “Where dost thou dwell?”Ten thousand tongues replied, but none could tell:They held their peace, and then the stones did cry—“Lo! Truth sits naked by the wayside well.”
He sought for Truth, and cried, “Where dost thou dwell?”Ten thousand tongues replied, but none could tell:They held their peace, and then the stones did cry—“Lo! Truth sits naked by the wayside well.”
He sought for Truth, and cried, “Where dost thou dwell?”
Ten thousand tongues replied, but none could tell:
They held their peace, and then the stones did cry—
“Lo! Truth sits naked by the wayside well.”
She sitteth naked since they drove her outFrom Babel of the Creeds to wastes of Doubt;There hath she wandered long in dens and caves,Through Custom’s winter, and through Reason’s drought.
She sitteth naked since they drove her outFrom Babel of the Creeds to wastes of Doubt;There hath she wandered long in dens and caves,Through Custom’s winter, and through Reason’s drought.
She sitteth naked since they drove her out
From Babel of the Creeds to wastes of Doubt;
There hath she wandered long in dens and caves,
Through Custom’s winter, and through Reason’s drought.
They would have cloaked her as a shameful thing;Force brought her chains, and Fraud a marriage ring,But Truth, affrighted, fled the market placeWhere lies were coined in gold, and Craft was king.
They would have cloaked her as a shameful thing;Force brought her chains, and Fraud a marriage ring,But Truth, affrighted, fled the market placeWhere lies were coined in gold, and Craft was king.
They would have cloaked her as a shameful thing;
Force brought her chains, and Fraud a marriage ring,
But Truth, affrighted, fled the market place
Where lies were coined in gold, and Craft was king.
And still she flies from sacred fount, and school,When man defiles, or doth his kind befool;And still they wait, the halt, the lame, the blind,Though Truth, the angel, troubleth not the pool.
And still she flies from sacred fount, and school,When man defiles, or doth his kind befool;And still they wait, the halt, the lame, the blind,Though Truth, the angel, troubleth not the pool.
And still she flies from sacred fount, and school,
When man defiles, or doth his kind befool;
And still they wait, the halt, the lame, the blind,
Though Truth, the angel, troubleth not the pool.
A wandering spirit in this street of tombs,I sought her yet who still to travel dooms,From hostel unto hostel o’er the waste,Her votaries the fitful lamp illumes.
A wandering spirit in this street of tombs,I sought her yet who still to travel dooms,From hostel unto hostel o’er the waste,Her votaries the fitful lamp illumes.
A wandering spirit in this street of tombs,
I sought her yet who still to travel dooms,
From hostel unto hostel o’er the waste,
Her votaries the fitful lamp illumes.
But ere the dawn stood trembling at night’s gate,Dark as the night, I reached a portal great,Wide to the homeless wind, defaced and bare,While yet it spake of power, and antique state,
But ere the dawn stood trembling at night’s gate,Dark as the night, I reached a portal great,Wide to the homeless wind, defaced and bare,While yet it spake of power, and antique state,
But ere the dawn stood trembling at night’s gate,
Dark as the night, I reached a portal great,
Wide to the homeless wind, defaced and bare,
While yet it spake of power, and antique state,
Of pillared hall and chambers large and fair,Which Thought and Art had carven and made rare,As life by life was laid with stone on stone,Or flowed through marble veins the beams to bear;
Of pillared hall and chambers large and fair,Which Thought and Art had carven and made rare,As life by life was laid with stone on stone,Or flowed through marble veins the beams to bear;
Of pillared hall and chambers large and fair,
Which Thought and Art had carven and made rare,
As life by life was laid with stone on stone,
Or flowed through marble veins the beams to bear;
And flowered aloft in capital and frieze,As roof and wall high rose with years’ increase;Withal did slow decay still gild and stain,Or like a stealthy robber climbed to seize.
And flowered aloft in capital and frieze,As roof and wall high rose with years’ increase;Withal did slow decay still gild and stain,Or like a stealthy robber climbed to seize.
And flowered aloft in capital and frieze,
As roof and wall high rose with years’ increase;
Withal did slow decay still gild and stain,
Or like a stealthy robber climbed to seize.
Strange lights from windows glared, and stranger soundOf mingled mourners’ grief and revel round—Sad discords from a world’s disorder wrung—With music broke upon the desert bound.
Strange lights from windows glared, and stranger soundOf mingled mourners’ grief and revel round—Sad discords from a world’s disorder wrung—With music broke upon the desert bound.
Strange lights from windows glared, and stranger sound
Of mingled mourners’ grief and revel round—
Sad discords from a world’s disorder wrung—
With music broke upon the desert bound.
A fountain in the forecourt sullen slept,One wintry tree beside it, wind beswept,And shorn of its last leaves, which strewed the stone,Like one above the water, drooped and wept.
A fountain in the forecourt sullen slept,One wintry tree beside it, wind beswept,And shorn of its last leaves, which strewed the stone,Like one above the water, drooped and wept.
A fountain in the forecourt sullen slept,
One wintry tree beside it, wind beswept,
And shorn of its last leaves, which strewed the stone,
Like one above the water, drooped and wept.
And at the threshold, on the shattered stair,In raiment sad one sate as cloaked in care;There, too, her sister shape in vernal green,The lintel old did hang with garlands fair.
And at the threshold, on the shattered stair,In raiment sad one sate as cloaked in care;There, too, her sister shape in vernal green,The lintel old did hang with garlands fair.
And at the threshold, on the shattered stair,
In raiment sad one sate as cloaked in care;
There, too, her sister shape in vernal green,
The lintel old did hang with garlands fair.
“Who,” then I would have cried, “art thou that weep?And why with mourning festal garlands heap?Why thus, though kindred, are your hearts in twain!O Sisters weird this magic house who keep?
“Who,” then I would have cried, “art thou that weep?And why with mourning festal garlands heap?Why thus, though kindred, are your hearts in twain!O Sisters weird this magic house who keep?
“Who,” then I would have cried, “art thou that weep?
And why with mourning festal garlands heap?
Why thus, though kindred, are your hearts in twain!
O Sisters weird this magic house who keep?
“This magic house, so fair, so disarrayed,What god, what demon first its foundings laid?Who thus its treasure to Oblivion casts,Still hungering at the gate but never stayed?”
“This magic house, so fair, so disarrayed,What god, what demon first its foundings laid?Who thus its treasure to Oblivion casts,Still hungering at the gate but never stayed?”
“This magic house, so fair, so disarrayed,
What god, what demon first its foundings laid?
Who thus its treasure to Oblivion casts,
Still hungering at the gate but never stayed?”
And I was answered ere my thought found tongue,As pealing from the gate their voices rung,Like wailing harp and voice together heard;With ear intent upon their speech I hung.
And I was answered ere my thought found tongue,As pealing from the gate their voices rung,Like wailing harp and voice together heard;With ear intent upon their speech I hung.
And I was answered ere my thought found tongue,
As pealing from the gate their voices rung,
Like wailing harp and voice together heard;
With ear intent upon their speech I hung.
“Let no man ask, but he who doth not shrinkTo stand at gaze upon thought’s giddy brink,Where breaks the endless sea, and ebbs and flowsThe tides of life and death that Time doth drink.
“Let no man ask, but he who doth not shrinkTo stand at gaze upon thought’s giddy brink,Where breaks the endless sea, and ebbs and flowsThe tides of life and death that Time doth drink.
“Let no man ask, but he who doth not shrink
To stand at gaze upon thought’s giddy brink,
Where breaks the endless sea, and ebbs and flows
The tides of life and death that Time doth drink.
“Time’s very house is this, his daughters we,Ruin and Renovation, thou dost see,That sweep or garnish, and its chambers fitFor grief or joy, or whatso guests may be.
“Time’s very house is this, his daughters we,Ruin and Renovation, thou dost see,That sweep or garnish, and its chambers fitFor grief or joy, or whatso guests may be.
“Time’s very house is this, his daughters we,
Ruin and Renovation, thou dost see,
That sweep or garnish, and its chambers fit
For grief or joy, or whatso guests may be.
“Pillared and roofed it is with nights and days,And windows gemmed in gold, or azure space,Its table spread, with earth’s, for fast or feast,Between Birth’s gate and Death’s where all find place.
“Pillared and roofed it is with nights and days,And windows gemmed in gold, or azure space,Its table spread, with earth’s, for fast or feast,Between Birth’s gate and Death’s where all find place.
“Pillared and roofed it is with nights and days,
And windows gemmed in gold, or azure space,
Its table spread, with earth’s, for fast or feast,
Between Birth’s gate and Death’s where all find place.
“Close curtained both with mystery and pain,O’erwrought with costly tears, and heart-hued stain,And Love the windows dim hath painted o’erWith dreams of dear delight, that wax and wane
“Close curtained both with mystery and pain,O’erwrought with costly tears, and heart-hued stain,And Love the windows dim hath painted o’erWith dreams of dear delight, that wax and wane
“Close curtained both with mystery and pain,
O’erwrought with costly tears, and heart-hued stain,
And Love the windows dim hath painted o’er
With dreams of dear delight, that wax and wane
“From morn to eve, as through the glowing glassHis vital sun transfigures, as they pass,Those visionary joys, and hopes, and fearsThat mask Life’s face—a dream itself, alas!”
“From morn to eve, as through the glowing glassHis vital sun transfigures, as they pass,Those visionary joys, and hopes, and fearsThat mask Life’s face—a dream itself, alas!”
“From morn to eve, as through the glowing glass
His vital sun transfigures, as they pass,
Those visionary joys, and hopes, and fears
That mask Life’s face—a dream itself, alas!”
But ere they ceased a fairer one forth came,With cup of welcome and with torch aflame,In floating raiment soft, and radiant hair,And thus she sang, each captive sense to claim:—
But ere they ceased a fairer one forth came,With cup of welcome and with torch aflame,In floating raiment soft, and radiant hair,And thus she sang, each captive sense to claim:—
But ere they ceased a fairer one forth came,
With cup of welcome and with torch aflame,
In floating raiment soft, and radiant hair,
And thus she sang, each captive sense to claim:—
“Dream on, O soul, or sleep and take thy rest,The feast is spread however late the guest;Let passion drug the cup with secret fire,Till torturing thought be slain on pleasure’s breast.
“Dream on, O soul, or sleep and take thy rest,The feast is spread however late the guest;Let passion drug the cup with secret fire,Till torturing thought be slain on pleasure’s breast.
“Dream on, O soul, or sleep and take thy rest,
The feast is spread however late the guest;
Let passion drug the cup with secret fire,
Till torturing thought be slain on pleasure’s breast.
“Where all are masked thy mask shall be thy face,Call for the best life gives, and take thy placeAt Time’s long hostel board; cast off thy care,And rest you merry in dame Fortune’s grace.
“Where all are masked thy mask shall be thy face,Call for the best life gives, and take thy placeAt Time’s long hostel board; cast off thy care,And rest you merry in dame Fortune’s grace.
“Where all are masked thy mask shall be thy face,
Call for the best life gives, and take thy place
At Time’s long hostel board; cast off thy care,
And rest you merry in dame Fortune’s grace.
“Vex not thy soul until the reckoning day,Though life be but the least thou hast to pay;Stand not too late on pleasure’s foaming brink,Nor yet, with sightless eld, outsit the play.
“Vex not thy soul until the reckoning day,Though life be but the least thou hast to pay;Stand not too late on pleasure’s foaming brink,Nor yet, with sightless eld, outsit the play.
“Vex not thy soul until the reckoning day,
Though life be but the least thou hast to pay;
Stand not too late on pleasure’s foaming brink,
Nor yet, with sightless eld, outsit the play.
“Time is thine host, and, ere the day grows old,To thee his story strange he shall unfold,Writ in a half-obliterated scroll,But pictured fair, and graven deep—behold!”
“Time is thine host, and, ere the day grows old,To thee his story strange he shall unfold,Writ in a half-obliterated scroll,But pictured fair, and graven deep—behold!”
“Time is thine host, and, ere the day grows old,
To thee his story strange he shall unfold,
Writ in a half-obliterated scroll,
But pictured fair, and graven deep—behold!”
As though a new Pandora raised the lid,And let life’s mystery escape unbid,Broke sudden on my sight a wonder show,As through the portal dark I gazed, close hid:
As though a new Pandora raised the lid,And let life’s mystery escape unbid,Broke sudden on my sight a wonder show,As through the portal dark I gazed, close hid:
As though a new Pandora raised the lid,
And let life’s mystery escape unbid,
Broke sudden on my sight a wonder show,
As through the portal dark I gazed, close hid:
E’en like as one who sits expectant, dumb,At gaze before some world’s proscenium,When rolls the curtain from the painted stage,To see life’s play,—Past, Present, and To Come;
E’en like as one who sits expectant, dumb,At gaze before some world’s proscenium,When rolls the curtain from the painted stage,To see life’s play,—Past, Present, and To Come;
E’en like as one who sits expectant, dumb,
At gaze before some world’s proscenium,
When rolls the curtain from the painted stage,
To see life’s play,—Past, Present, and To Come;
The drama of the earth before me rolled,The war of good and evil, new and old,The fight for very life, for space, for air,The sum and cost of Being, still untold.
The drama of the earth before me rolled,The war of good and evil, new and old,The fight for very life, for space, for air,The sum and cost of Being, still untold.
The drama of the earth before me rolled,
The war of good and evil, new and old,
The fight for very life, for space, for air,
The sum and cost of Being, still untold.
Since when Time’s brooding bird did patient sitUpon her spherèd egg—the world, to wit,Potent with life, in ocean, earth, and air,Ere ever faun or flower did people it:
Since when Time’s brooding bird did patient sitUpon her spherèd egg—the world, to wit,Potent with life, in ocean, earth, and air,Ere ever faun or flower did people it:
Since when Time’s brooding bird did patient sit
Upon her spherèd egg—the world, to wit,
Potent with life, in ocean, earth, and air,
Ere ever faun or flower did people it:
Since when from countless germs life’s tree did growFrom writhing worms about its roots below,From dragon-shapes that clasp its fossil stem,To bear love’s fruit, and human flowers arow.
Since when from countless germs life’s tree did growFrom writhing worms about its roots below,From dragon-shapes that clasp its fossil stem,To bear love’s fruit, and human flowers arow.
Since when from countless germs life’s tree did grow
From writhing worms about its roots below,
From dragon-shapes that clasp its fossil stem,
To bear love’s fruit, and human flowers arow.
Where Thought’s winged kind among its branches dwell,Still fertilized by Beauty’s potent spell;Cast and re-cast in Nature’s supple mould,Through death and change, and birth’s transforming cell.
Where Thought’s winged kind among its branches dwell,Still fertilized by Beauty’s potent spell;Cast and re-cast in Nature’s supple mould,Through death and change, and birth’s transforming cell.
Where Thought’s winged kind among its branches dwell,
Still fertilized by Beauty’s potent spell;
Cast and re-cast in Nature’s supple mould,
Through death and change, and birth’s transforming cell.
’Twas pictured here—with boughs outspread thro’ space,Blossomed with stars upon the sky’s swart face,With globing worlds for fruit, that cool or glowAs night and day, like leaves their shadows chase.
’Twas pictured here—with boughs outspread thro’ space,Blossomed with stars upon the sky’s swart face,With globing worlds for fruit, that cool or glowAs night and day, like leaves their shadows chase.
’Twas pictured here—with boughs outspread thro’ space,
Blossomed with stars upon the sky’s swart face,
With globing worlds for fruit, that cool or glow
As night and day, like leaves their shadows chase.
Out of the dream of ages, sleeping fast,Out of the dim and unrecorded past,Out of the caverns of uncounted time,In life’s dark house Man saw the sun at last.
Out of the dream of ages, sleeping fast,Out of the dim and unrecorded past,Out of the caverns of uncounted time,In life’s dark house Man saw the sun at last.
Out of the dream of ages, sleeping fast,
Out of the dim and unrecorded past,
Out of the caverns of uncounted time,
In life’s dark house Man saw the sun at last.
Inhuman Man, late come unto the birth,Wrapped in the swathing bands of mother Earth,Long his descent, his pedigree obscure,To his inheritance of strife and dearth.
Inhuman Man, late come unto the birth,Wrapped in the swathing bands of mother Earth,Long his descent, his pedigree obscure,To his inheritance of strife and dearth.
Inhuman Man, late come unto the birth,
Wrapped in the swathing bands of mother Earth,
Long his descent, his pedigree obscure,
To his inheritance of strife and dearth.
As from the ground the earth worm crawls to light,Speechless and blind, from antenatal nightMan rose on earth, the bitter strife began—Man rose on earth, and craft did conquer might:
As from the ground the earth worm crawls to light,Speechless and blind, from antenatal nightMan rose on earth, the bitter strife began—Man rose on earth, and craft did conquer might:
As from the ground the earth worm crawls to light,
Speechless and blind, from antenatal night
Man rose on earth, the bitter strife began—
Man rose on earth, and craft did conquer might:
Since cruel Nature, careless of her child,Left him an outcast on the worldly wild,Cradled in space, and serpent-swathed in time,And rocked to sleep by death, or dream-beguiled.
Since cruel Nature, careless of her child,Left him an outcast on the worldly wild,Cradled in space, and serpent-swathed in time,And rocked to sleep by death, or dream-beguiled.
Since cruel Nature, careless of her child,
Left him an outcast on the worldly wild,
Cradled in space, and serpent-swathed in time,
And rocked to sleep by death, or dream-beguiled.
I saw him in his cradle at the first,With beasts and savage passions, rudely nursed,To snatch uncertain life from Nature’s hand,Niggard or prodigal, through best and worst;
I saw him in his cradle at the first,With beasts and savage passions, rudely nursed,To snatch uncertain life from Nature’s hand,Niggard or prodigal, through best and worst;
I saw him in his cradle at the first,
With beasts and savage passions, rudely nursed,
To snatch uncertain life from Nature’s hand,
Niggard or prodigal, through best and worst;
He blindly bore the burden of his dayWith his dumb kindred of the primal clay,Whence drew his blood brute instincts, fiery lusts,That waste his substance still, and tear and slay.
He blindly bore the burden of his dayWith his dumb kindred of the primal clay,Whence drew his blood brute instincts, fiery lusts,That waste his substance still, and tear and slay.
He blindly bore the burden of his day
With his dumb kindred of the primal clay,
Whence drew his blood brute instincts, fiery lusts,
That waste his substance still, and tear and slay.
A babbling child he sits upon Time’s sand,To the mute sky he cries, he would command;Heedless he plays with serpents and with fire,With life—a toy in his unconscious hand.
A babbling child he sits upon Time’s sand,To the mute sky he cries, he would command;Heedless he plays with serpents and with fire,With life—a toy in his unconscious hand.
A babbling child he sits upon Time’s sand,
To the mute sky he cries, he would command;
Heedless he plays with serpents and with fire,
With life—a toy in his unconscious hand.
Yet hath he held it from that early day,Though Death did ever plot to snatch away,And snared his tottering steps with dangers thick,Prowling in countless shapes beside his way.
Yet hath he held it from that early day,Though Death did ever plot to snatch away,And snared his tottering steps with dangers thick,Prowling in countless shapes beside his way.
Yet hath he held it from that early day,
Though Death did ever plot to snatch away,
And snared his tottering steps with dangers thick,
Prowling in countless shapes beside his way.
Sore was the strife, and little was life’s boonBetween the toiling sun and wasting moon,With lurid pleasures fierce, and horrid rite,Blind day outworn, the long long sleep won soon.
Sore was the strife, and little was life’s boonBetween the toiling sun and wasting moon,With lurid pleasures fierce, and horrid rite,Blind day outworn, the long long sleep won soon.
Sore was the strife, and little was life’s boon
Between the toiling sun and wasting moon,
With lurid pleasures fierce, and horrid rite,
Blind day outworn, the long long sleep won soon.
Still Nature, prodigal, did cast his seedO’er frozen sea, or burning zone, to breed—Where hand or foot could cling, or heart could beat—Man’s kind on earth, since sprung to flower, or weed.
Still Nature, prodigal, did cast his seedO’er frozen sea, or burning zone, to breed—Where hand or foot could cling, or heart could beat—Man’s kind on earth, since sprung to flower, or weed.
Still Nature, prodigal, did cast his seed
O’er frozen sea, or burning zone, to breed—
Where hand or foot could cling, or heart could beat—
Man’s kind on earth, since sprung to flower, or weed.
The rod of Want, the school of bitter Need,Taught him Life’s letters, still so hard to read:Use gave him skill, and skill new sense to use,He bent the bow, he bade the ploughshare speed.
The rod of Want, the school of bitter Need,Taught him Life’s letters, still so hard to read:Use gave him skill, and skill new sense to use,He bent the bow, he bade the ploughshare speed.
The rod of Want, the school of bitter Need,
Taught him Life’s letters, still so hard to read:
Use gave him skill, and skill new sense to use,
He bent the bow, he bade the ploughshare speed.
Bread for his body and his soul he sought,Raiment to cloak him from the cold he boughtOf ruthless nature, toiling brain and hand;Past all the gates of death his race he brought.
Bread for his body and his soul he sought,Raiment to cloak him from the cold he boughtOf ruthless nature, toiling brain and hand;Past all the gates of death his race he brought.
Bread for his body and his soul he sought,
Raiment to cloak him from the cold he bought
Of ruthless nature, toiling brain and hand;
Past all the gates of death his race he brought.
Lo! infant Thought and Art, Man’s children fair,First tottering from the cave, his primal lair;Babes in the world’s wood wandering, to and fro,To touch man’s sordid heart, and lift his care.
Lo! infant Thought and Art, Man’s children fair,First tottering from the cave, his primal lair;Babes in the world’s wood wandering, to and fro,To touch man’s sordid heart, and lift his care.
Lo! infant Thought and Art, Man’s children fair,
First tottering from the cave, his primal lair;
Babes in the world’s wood wandering, to and fro,
To touch man’s sordid heart, and lift his care.
Since the first hunter graved his dirk and horn,Or in the shepherd state was music born—When Song lay dreaming in the whispering reed,Ere she discoursed unto the golden morn.
Since the first hunter graved his dirk and horn,Or in the shepherd state was music born—When Song lay dreaming in the whispering reed,Ere she discoursed unto the golden morn.
Since the first hunter graved his dirk and horn,
Or in the shepherd state was music born—
When Song lay dreaming in the whispering reed,
Ere she discoursed unto the golden morn.
Born of life’s travail, Virtues, sweet, benign,Grew like fair daughters of a race divine—The pillars of Man’s house, before whose rodEvil and Good, as twisted snakes, untwine.
Born of life’s travail, Virtues, sweet, benign,Grew like fair daughters of a race divine—The pillars of Man’s house, before whose rodEvil and Good, as twisted snakes, untwine.
Born of life’s travail, Virtues, sweet, benign,
Grew like fair daughters of a race divine—
The pillars of Man’s house, before whose rod
Evil and Good, as twisted snakes, untwine.
But to his roof had fled pale palsied Fear,The child of Death and Night, but fathered there,And nursed by Ignorance beside the hearthTo cloud his house with all her mystic gear.
But to his roof had fled pale palsied Fear,The child of Death and Night, but fathered there,And nursed by Ignorance beside the hearthTo cloud his house with all her mystic gear.
But to his roof had fled pale palsied Fear,
The child of Death and Night, but fathered there,
And nursed by Ignorance beside the hearth
To cloud his house with all her mystic gear.
Demon and fetish painted she to scare,And veils against the light did weave and wear;Yea, Art and Thought, man’s firstlings, fain would bindFrom birth to serve her will, her yoke to bear.
Demon and fetish painted she to scare,And veils against the light did weave and wear;Yea, Art and Thought, man’s firstlings, fain would bindFrom birth to serve her will, her yoke to bear.
Demon and fetish painted she to scare,
And veils against the light did weave and wear;
Yea, Art and Thought, man’s firstlings, fain would bind
From birth to serve her will, her yoke to bear.
So Man, held hand and foot, a slave beholdBetween the soldier-king and priest of old;By force and fraud bound fast as by two chains—How long, O Man, how long shall they thee hold?
So Man, held hand and foot, a slave beholdBetween the soldier-king and priest of old;By force and fraud bound fast as by two chains—How long, O Man, how long shall they thee hold?
So Man, held hand and foot, a slave behold
Between the soldier-king and priest of old;
By force and fraud bound fast as by two chains—
How long, O Man, how long shall they thee hold?
“How long?” again I cried,—but Silence keptHer finger on the lips of Hope: still slept,Like clouds upon the mountains, dreams untold,And Freedom on the tomb of ages wept.
“How long?” again I cried,—but Silence keptHer finger on the lips of Hope: still slept,Like clouds upon the mountains, dreams untold,And Freedom on the tomb of ages wept.
“How long?” again I cried,—but Silence kept
Her finger on the lips of Hope: still slept,
Like clouds upon the mountains, dreams untold,
And Freedom on the tomb of ages wept.
Yet, like a watcher by a beacon fire,Amid the lurid gloom and shadows dire,Wrapped in the cloak of darkness, fold on fold,I marked through flames portentous shapes aspire.
Yet, like a watcher by a beacon fire,Amid the lurid gloom and shadows dire,Wrapped in the cloak of darkness, fold on fold,I marked through flames portentous shapes aspire.
Yet, like a watcher by a beacon fire,
Amid the lurid gloom and shadows dire,
Wrapped in the cloak of darkness, fold on fold,
I marked through flames portentous shapes aspire.
Slow streamed the progress vast of human kind,Out of the primal dark I watched it wind,Like a full river gleaming towards the sun,Crested with light, but lost in mists behind.
Slow streamed the progress vast of human kind,Out of the primal dark I watched it wind,Like a full river gleaming towards the sun,Crested with light, but lost in mists behind.
Slow streamed the progress vast of human kind,
Out of the primal dark I watched it wind,
Like a full river gleaming towards the sun,
Crested with light, but lost in mists behind.
I saw the towering crests of ancient stateArise and pass, and bow themselves to fate:Captors of men bound still to conquering Time,And in their triumph drawn to death’s dark gate.
I saw the towering crests of ancient stateArise and pass, and bow themselves to fate:Captors of men bound still to conquering Time,And in their triumph drawn to death’s dark gate.
I saw the towering crests of ancient state
Arise and pass, and bow themselves to fate:
Captors of men bound still to conquering Time,
And in their triumph drawn to death’s dark gate.
Colossal Egypt on her car rolled by,Dragged by her crowd of slaves, with lash and cry;Who now, a slave herself, is bought and sold,And buried in the sand her pride doth lie.
Colossal Egypt on her car rolled by,Dragged by her crowd of slaves, with lash and cry;Who now, a slave herself, is bought and sold,And buried in the sand her pride doth lie.
Colossal Egypt on her car rolled by,
Dragged by her crowd of slaves, with lash and cry;
Who now, a slave herself, is bought and sold,
And buried in the sand her pride doth lie.
Athens, supreme, with burnished helm and spear,In art and arms and wisdom shining clear,To other hands hath passed the lamp of life,And weep the muses o’er her sculptured bier.
Athens, supreme, with burnished helm and spear,In art and arms and wisdom shining clear,To other hands hath passed the lamp of life,And weep the muses o’er her sculptured bier.
Athens, supreme, with burnished helm and spear,
In art and arms and wisdom shining clear,
To other hands hath passed the lamp of life,
And weep the muses o’er her sculptured bier.
There, clothed as with a robe with power and pride,Great Rome upon her triumph car did rideOver the necks of nations and of men,Unto whose broken wheel still souls are tied.
There, clothed as with a robe with power and pride,Great Rome upon her triumph car did rideOver the necks of nations and of men,Unto whose broken wheel still souls are tied.
There, clothed as with a robe with power and pride,
Great Rome upon her triumph car did ride
Over the necks of nations and of men,
Unto whose broken wheel still souls are tied.
All these I saw, as on time’s painted pageThe figure of man’s life from age to ageWas figured, like his life of years and hours,And glassed his face—an infant or a mage.
All these I saw, as on time’s painted pageThe figure of man’s life from age to ageWas figured, like his life of years and hours,And glassed his face—an infant or a mage.
All these I saw, as on time’s painted page
The figure of man’s life from age to age
Was figured, like his life of years and hours,
And glassed his face—an infant or a mage.
In boyhood bright beneath the Grecian sun,I saw him stand, intent his race to run—To touch the golden goal of thought and art,And daring all man since hath dared or done.
In boyhood bright beneath the Grecian sun,I saw him stand, intent his race to run—To touch the golden goal of thought and art,And daring all man since hath dared or done.
In boyhood bright beneath the Grecian sun,
I saw him stand, intent his race to run—
To touch the golden goal of thought and art,
And daring all man since hath dared or done.
The apple of his life to Beauty’s handFreely he gave, and she so dowered his land,That still that fond world takes it for her glass,And gazes, leaving knowledge and command.
The apple of his life to Beauty’s handFreely he gave, and she so dowered his land,That still that fond world takes it for her glass,And gazes, leaving knowledge and command.
The apple of his life to Beauty’s hand
Freely he gave, and she so dowered his land,
That still that fond world takes it for her glass,
And gazes, leaving knowledge and command.
In youth a mystic shadow o’er him fell:He touched the lover’s lute beneath the spell;He fought, a knight-at-arms, for lady’s grace;He prayed a monk austere in haunted cell;
In youth a mystic shadow o’er him fell:He touched the lover’s lute beneath the spell;He fought, a knight-at-arms, for lady’s grace;He prayed a monk austere in haunted cell;
In youth a mystic shadow o’er him fell:
He touched the lover’s lute beneath the spell;
He fought, a knight-at-arms, for lady’s grace;
He prayed a monk austere in haunted cell;
Till Nature roused him from his dreams again,And Reason broke the chains which bound him then;New knowledge, power, and beauty filled life’s cup,And rolled the round world to his manhood’s ken.
Till Nature roused him from his dreams again,And Reason broke the chains which bound him then;New knowledge, power, and beauty filled life’s cup,And rolled the round world to his manhood’s ken.
Till Nature roused him from his dreams again,
And Reason broke the chains which bound him then;
New knowledge, power, and beauty filled life’s cup,
And rolled the round world to his manhood’s ken.
Yet old before his time he sits, out-wornWith words and wars, upon the seat of scorn;Weary of life’s vain round, love’s fruitless chase,False fortune’s whirling wheel, fame’s empty horn.
Yet old before his time he sits, out-wornWith words and wars, upon the seat of scorn;Weary of life’s vain round, love’s fruitless chase,False fortune’s whirling wheel, fame’s empty horn.
Yet old before his time he sits, out-worn
With words and wars, upon the seat of scorn;
Weary of life’s vain round, love’s fruitless chase,
False fortune’s whirling wheel, fame’s empty horn.
For here, in living shape and semblance, shoneThe passions and the powers man’s soul hath wonThrough all his ages, like the starry signsWhere through life’s year revolves the sleepless sun.
For here, in living shape and semblance, shoneThe passions and the powers man’s soul hath wonThrough all his ages, like the starry signsWhere through life’s year revolves the sleepless sun.
For here, in living shape and semblance, shone
The passions and the powers man’s soul hath won
Through all his ages, like the starry signs
Where through life’s year revolves the sleepless sun.
The pattern and the form of thoughts untold;The book of being wrought in runes of gold;The twisted net that holds all gain and lossThe birth-clothes cover, or the shroud doth fold.
The pattern and the form of thoughts untold;The book of being wrought in runes of gold;The twisted net that holds all gain and lossThe birth-clothes cover, or the shroud doth fold.
The pattern and the form of thoughts untold;
The book of being wrought in runes of gold;
The twisted net that holds all gain and loss
The birth-clothes cover, or the shroud doth fold.
The moving tapestry of human date,Where lives for threads are crossed in love or hate,Between the narrow beams of dark and day—Time’s shifting loom, the toil of threefold fate.
The moving tapestry of human date,Where lives for threads are crossed in love or hate,Between the narrow beams of dark and day—Time’s shifting loom, the toil of threefold fate.
The moving tapestry of human date,
Where lives for threads are crossed in love or hate,
Between the narrow beams of dark and day—
Time’s shifting loom, the toil of threefold fate.
At their eternal task the sisters dread,Who spin and weave and shear the slender threadWith all its dyes, that doth sustain and fillThis tangled web from pole to pole outspread.
At their eternal task the sisters dread,Who spin and weave and shear the slender threadWith all its dyes, that doth sustain and fillThis tangled web from pole to pole outspread.
At their eternal task the sisters dread,
Who spin and weave and shear the slender thread
With all its dyes, that doth sustain and fill
This tangled web from pole to pole outspread.
The arras that doth clothe the house of Time,Stained with the hues of all man’s bliss and crime:—The chequered pageant of the changing earthStill through its folds doth ever sink and climb:
The arras that doth clothe the house of Time,Stained with the hues of all man’s bliss and crime:—The chequered pageant of the changing earthStill through its folds doth ever sink and climb:
The arras that doth clothe the house of Time,
Stained with the hues of all man’s bliss and crime:—
The chequered pageant of the changing earth
Still through its folds doth ever sink and climb:
Along the street of days and nights where rollsThe world’s car onwards and its throng of souls,Like captives in a conqueror’s triumph chained—Compelled by fortune’s wheel that none controls.
Along the street of days and nights where rollsThe world’s car onwards and its throng of souls,Like captives in a conqueror’s triumph chained—Compelled by fortune’s wheel that none controls.
Along the street of days and nights where rolls
The world’s car onwards and its throng of souls,
Like captives in a conqueror’s triumph chained—
Compelled by fortune’s wheel that none controls.
The glittering triumph of youth’s golden dreams,And ardent manhood in the zenith, beamsOf love, and fame, and power that guides the car,And slow-pulsed eld still warmed in their last gleams.
The glittering triumph of youth’s golden dreams,And ardent manhood in the zenith, beamsOf love, and fame, and power that guides the car,And slow-pulsed eld still warmed in their last gleams.
The glittering triumph of youth’s golden dreams,
And ardent manhood in the zenith, beams
Of love, and fame, and power that guides the car,
And slow-pulsed eld still warmed in their last gleams.
Masqued with the masquers in that endless raceThe hours go by at grief’s or passion’s pace,And cloaked alike in poverty or pride,Through all life’s masks death shows his ashen face.
Masqued with the masquers in that endless raceThe hours go by at grief’s or passion’s pace,And cloaked alike in poverty or pride,Through all life’s masks death shows his ashen face.
Masqued with the masquers in that endless race
The hours go by at grief’s or passion’s pace,
And cloaked alike in poverty or pride,
Through all life’s masks death shows his ashen face.
The shadow clinging to the feet of life,As unto day doth cleave his silent wife—Sower and reaper in the self-same field—Twin spirits folded in immortal strife.
The shadow clinging to the feet of life,As unto day doth cleave his silent wife—Sower and reaper in the self-same field—Twin spirits folded in immortal strife.
The shadow clinging to the feet of life,
As unto day doth cleave his silent wife—
Sower and reaper in the self-same field—
Twin spirits folded in immortal strife.
There good and ill, brothers and bitter foes,Do strike the balance of man’s joys and woes;And in the traffic of the world’s exchangeOft ill as good, and good as evil goes:
There good and ill, brothers and bitter foes,Do strike the balance of man’s joys and woes;And in the traffic of the world’s exchangeOft ill as good, and good as evil goes:
There good and ill, brothers and bitter foes,
Do strike the balance of man’s joys and woes;
And in the traffic of the world’s exchange
Oft ill as good, and good as evil goes:
Two knights that battle for Truth’s painted targe,With flashing spears upon time’s river marge,Where, like the rushing waters, rise their steeds,And crash together in tremendous charge.
Two knights that battle for Truth’s painted targe,With flashing spears upon time’s river marge,Where, like the rushing waters, rise their steeds,And crash together in tremendous charge.
Two knights that battle for Truth’s painted targe,
With flashing spears upon time’s river marge,
Where, like the rushing waters, rise their steeds,
And crash together in tremendous charge.