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The Soul and Nature.
87
These stars above that tread their ceaseless measure,
The blossom at our feet that sucks the ground,
The stream of life that runs though pain and pleasure,
By one deep law of harmony are bound.
The blossom at our feet that sucks the ground,
The stream of life that runs though pain and pleasure,
By one deep law of harmony are bound.
III.
Strange fate is ours! A spirit must remember;
We seize the past, we breathe its faded day,
Like travellers in same ancient, painted chamber,
We gaze on hours that long have passed away;
And man, who speaks o’er continent and sea;
Whose words outlive the ages past, outstrip the years to be;
Who, ere the starry centuries have run,
Marks the swift comet, or the shadowing sun,
Yet knows not whence he comes, or whither goes;
King for a day—a beggar at its close.
We seize the past, we breathe its faded day,
Like travellers in same ancient, painted chamber,
We gaze on hours that long have passed away;
And man, who speaks o’er continent and sea;
Whose words outlive the ages past, outstrip the years to be;
Who, ere the starry centuries have run,
Marks the swift comet, or the shadowing sun,
Yet knows not whence he comes, or whither goes;
King for a day—a beggar at its close.
IV.
Just at the turn of night I heard the seas
And woke; the golden-fronted caravan
Led by Orion’s glittering scimitar,
The beckoning cross, the wreathed Pleiades,
The bright procession of an unknown plan
Paced on the hill of heaven, star after star.
What bourne seek ye, with solemn steps and slow?
Whence do ye come? O whither do you go?
And woke; the golden-fronted caravan
Led by Orion’s glittering scimitar,
The beckoning cross, the wreathed Pleiades,
The bright procession of an unknown plan
Paced on the hill of heaven, star after star.
What bourne seek ye, with solemn steps and slow?
Whence do ye come? O whither do you go?
V.
Jupiter hung on the moon, near the western lawn,
Piloting in her silver-sailed ship
Low in the sky; but in the pallid East,
Like some bright spirit that walks before the dawn,
Piloting in her silver-sailed ship
Low in the sky; but in the pallid East,
Like some bright spirit that walks before the dawn,