And there is not a whisper in the air
Of any living voice but one so far
That I can hear it only as a bar
Of lost, imperial music, played when fair
And angel fingers wove, and unaware,
Dead leaves to garlands where no roses are.
No, there is not a glimmer, nor a call,
For one that welcomes, welcomes when he fears,
The black and awful chaos of the night;
For through it all–above, beyond it all–
I know the far sent message of the years,
I feel the coming glory of the light.
Old island walls with older seasComes here where now September makesAn island in a sea of trees.Between the sunlight and the shadeA man may learn till he forgetsThe roaring of a world remade,And all his ruins and regrets;And if he still remembers herePoor fights he may have won or lost,—If he be ridden with the…
You may serve us if you must, and you shall have your wage of ashes,—Though arrears due thereafter may be hard for you to meet.“You may swear that we are solid, you may say that we are strong,But we know that we are neither and we say that you are wrong;You may find an easy…
Allurable to no sure theorem,The scorn or the humility of man.You say ‘Can I believe it?’—and I can;And I’m unwilling even to condemnThe benefaction of a stratagemLike hers—and I’m a Presbyterian.“Though blind, with but a wandering hour to live,He felt the other woman in the furThat now the wife had on. Could she forgiveAll that?…
Long centuries have come and gone.And yet (they say) the place will donA phantom fury of the past,Since Persia fell at Marathon;And as of old, when HeliconTrembled and swayed with rapture vast(Long centuries have come and gone),This ancient plain, when night comes on,Shakes to a ghostly battle-blast,Since Persia fell at Marathon.But into soundless AcheronThe glory…
Lord of himself at last, and all by Science,He seeks the Vanished Land.Alone, by the one light of his one thought,He steers to find the shore from which he came,Fearless of in what coil he may be caughtOn seas that have no name.Into the night he sails, and after nightThere is a dawning, thought there…
And once, among the roses and the sheaves,The Gardener and I were there alone.He led me to the plot where I had thrownThe fennel of my days on wasted ground,And in that riot of sad weeds I foundThe fruitage of a life that was my own.My life! Ah, yes, there was my life, indeed!And there…
