The Old Earth
How will it be if there we find no traces—
There in the Golden Heaven—if we find
No memories of the old Earth left behind,
No visions of familiar forms and faces—
Reminders of old voices and old places?
Yet could we bear it if it should remind?
Divine Adventure
At times a youth (so whispered legend tells),
Like Hylas, stoops to drink
By forest-hidden brink,
And fair hands draw him down to darkened wells;
Fair hands that hold him fast
With laughter at the last
Have power to draw him lightly down to be
In elfin chambers under the gray sea.
And I, O men of Earth, I too,
When dawn was at the dew,
Was drawn as Hylas downward and beheld
Spirits of youth and eld—
Was swung down endless caverns to the deep,
Saw fervid jewels sparkle in their sleep,
Saw glad gnomes working in the dusty light,
Saw great rocks crouching in the primal night.
I was drawn down, and after many days
Returned with stiller feet to walk the upper ways.
Song Made Flesh
I have no glory in these songs of mine:
If one of them can make a brother strong,
It came down from the peaks of the divine—
I heard it in the Heaven of Lyric Song.
The one who builds the poem into fact,
He is the rightful owner of it all:
The pale words are with God’s own power packed
When brave souls answer to their buglecall.
And so I ask no man to praise my song,
But I would have him build it in his soul;
For that great praise would make me glad and strong,
And build the poem to a perfect whole.