EIDOLA
THE CHOOSERS
O ye! Fragile, tremulous
Haunters of the deep glades,
Whose fingers part the leaves
Of beech and aspen ere ye slip thro’,
Shall I see ye again?
Men have said unto me:
These are but flying lights and shadows,
Light on the beech-boles, clouds shadowing the corn-fields,
The wind in the flame of birches in autumn,
Wind shadowing the clear pools.
But ye cried, laughing, down the wind:
Men are but shadows, but a vain breath!
So here cometh unto me
That cry from the rejoicing air:
Men are but shadows! And prone about me
I see them, hushed and sleeping in the hut,
Made solemn and holy by the night,
In the dead light o’ the moon:
Shadowy, swathed in their blankets,
As sleep, in hewn sepulchral caves,
Egypt’s and Asia’s kings.
While between them are the footsteps
Of glittering presences, who say: Lo, one
To be a sword upon my thigh!
And the sleepers stir restlessly and murmur
As between them pass
The bright-mailed choosers of the dead.
Shall I see ye again, O flying feet
O’ the forest-haunters, while I couch silent,
In a wet brake o’ blossom,
Dark ivy wreathing your whiteness;
Ere I am torn from the scabbard:
(Lo, one
To be a sword upon my thigh!)
Knowing no longer that earth
Lieth in the dews, shining and sacred?
SACRIFICE
Love suffereth all things.
And we,
Out of the travail and pain of our striving,
Bring unto thee the perfect prayer:
For the heart of no man uttereth love,
Suffering even for love’s sake.