Love untold 2 Sings in silence, speaks in light Still from heaven, whence toward us, now 3 Love's deep duty, 10 15 Even when love transfigured grows 20 Worship, all too surely knows How, though love may cast out fear, Yet the debt divine and dear Due to childhood's godhead here Nought is all 4 Sung or said or dreamed or thought All the love that man may give— 25 30 Love whose prayer should be, 'Forgive!' 35 No man dead, save haply one Ever found such grace as might 6 Hope that smiled, Seeing her new-born beauty, made Seeing the sun, afar above, love, Warm the nest that rears the dove, 40 45 50 Who may sing her? Wings of angels when they stir Make no music worthy her : Sweeter sound her shy soft words 55 Here than songs of God's own birds Whom the fire of rapture girds Round with light from love's face lit : Gifts to bring her. 8 Babes at birth Wear as raiment round them cast, Proof of unforgotten skies Here on earth. 60 65 70 9 Quenched as embers Quenched with flakes of rain or snow Now they share not heaven, forget: A. C. SWINBURNE. 396 ODE We are the music-makers, And we are the dreamers of dreams, Wandering by lone sea-breakers, And sitting by desolate streams ;World-losers and world-forsakers, On whom the pale moon gleams : With wonderful deathless ditties We fashion an empire's glory : One man with a dream, at pleasure, Shall go forth and conquer a crown; And three with a new song's measure Can trample a kingdom down. We, in the ages lying In the buried past of the earth, And Babel itself in our mirth; 75 80 5 10 15 20 A breath of our inspiration A wondrous thing of our dreaming, 25 30 Till our dream shall become their present, And their work in the world be done. They had no vision amazing 35 And therefore to-day is thrilling 41 In the faith that their fathers resisted, And, scorning the dream of to-morrow, Are bringing to pass, as they may, In the world, for its joy or its sorrow, The dream that was scorned yesterday. But we, with our dreaming and singing, The glory about us clinging Of the glorious futures we see, Our souls with high music ringing: O men! it must ever be 45 50 That we dwell, in our dreaming and singing, A little apart from ye. For we are afar with the dawning And the suns that are not yet high, And out of the infinite morning Intrepid you hear us cry 56 60 How, spite of your human scorning, That ye of the past must die. Great hail! we cry to the comers 65 You shall teach us your song's new numbers, A. W. E. 'O'SHAUGHNESSY. 71 397 Out of the night that covers me, In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud. Beyond this place of wrath and tears Finds, and shall find, me unafraid. It matters not how strait the gate, I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul. W. E. HENLEY. |