A Legend of Old Persia and Other Poems Part 11

Having been each a seer To whom all things were near, Not resenting or grieving But simply believing.

The Happy Ones.

They awaited with head erect Whatever fate could befall them; Tried but the good to recollect, Cried for the truth to call them.

To be loved by the children of other suns And send a message to find them, This is the fate of the happiest ones Tho' the mortar of life may grind them.

They were like swimmers breasting the waves In the troughs of a stormy channel, They are silent now in their lonely graves, But the world has become the panel.

They wore the truth like a bridal dress And sorrow like wedding apparel, Tho' the placid laughed at their foolishness And the cynic sneered from his barrel.

Or like the wandering Ishmaelites, Who found no city to dwell in, Whose lonely hearts ached for pleasant sights, Whose graves were the places they fell in, Rock their pillow and sand their bed, As the sun of the desert paints them; The fierce kites screaming overhead, And the hands of all men against them.

But a word goes out and over the earth, From the silent burying-places, Like a gentle rain in a land of dearth, And lights up the tired faces.

It brings a roof and a sweet abode To many a soul that is vagrant; Their names are blossoms along the road And their lives are for ever fragrant.

We who sorrow are brothers of theirs, Because of their beautiful sorrows, Wheat will grow up among the tares, And young corn grow in the furrows.

A Question.

Why do you prate to me Of deeds unjust and just, Moved by a story of good Or a monstrous tale of crimes-- Me that can have no loves But star-eyed queens long dust, Me that can mourn no griefs But the tears in poets' rhymes?

The Earth.

The Earth and her travail are ancient, Her G.o.ds have but reigned for a while-- The moon-crowned Queen Astarte, The barking G.o.d of the Nile.

Her temples were raised and builded, And crumbled again to the dust-- Her worships have been and vanished-- But the heart of the Earth is just.

Aspirations.

For that Thou pointest further still Than that dumb hand upon the hour Nor givest the boon to sap the will, I thank Thee, wise and tender power.

For that Thou givest my soul some pride, Not grudging sorrow for a mate, For this my wild and lovely bride I thank Thee, just, compa.s.sionate.

For that Thou givest my soul some strength Of that high strength which rules the stars, To brave the time and wait the length, I bless Thy name and kiss my scars.

Romance.

Know the decree that natures such as mine Must clasp the World and find her half-divine, Hyperion-souls which need no anodyne.

Once more, once more ye come, ye lovely shapes, Voicing the magic "Ye are G.o.ds, not Apes."

And oh! the Glory over seas and capes.

In memory only!--What that memory gave Of our young day, so brief and yet so brave, Will lead us half reluctant to the grave.

Tho' it existed not--lived never--only came From some vast depth of dateless woe and shame Striving to give its high desire a name, The glory dies not; leaves us tired and still; We cannot follow, even if we will; The Afterglow! Ah! there--beyond the hill.