And as I crouched to take the stroke that fell
Swift from the sky, a cloud of cherubim
Burst on my vision with a mighty song
That filled the wilderness, as though a bell
Chimed from afar. Then someone said: "Be strong,
Son of the Highest! Find thyself in Him!"
KEATS
To sing, as thou didst in full throated ease,
Sweeter than thine oft-envied nightingale,
And with thy singing waken hill and dale
Until the many harpstrings of the trees
Murmured in strange and old antiphonies;
To wander at thy will into the vale
Where sleeps Endymion, and tell the tale
Of Dian's nymphs or Pan's dear dryades:
Was it, in sooth, too great a price to pay—
The heart-ache and the passion and the tears
With which God mixed for thee life's cup of gold?
Against the sadness of thy lot I hold
The joy of him who sees and feels and hears
Earth's splendour, fulness, music, night and day.
A POET'S PRAYER
Give me pause and time for dreaming;
Send me to some quiet place
Where the winding water, gleaming,
Holds a glass before my face.
Here within the grind and clamour
I forget what I have known;
Life and love have lost their glamour,
And my heart is turned to stone.
Shrub and bird and beast are mingled
With a clumsy dream of man;
Lost the ancient art that singled
Hoof and brow of brooding Pan!