A Saint

THE stir of children with fresh dresses on,

And men who meet and say unguarded words,

And women from the coops

Of drudgeries released;

And standing at their doors to watch go by

Small pomps with pennons and with first spring-flowers,

And, lifted over them,

Your name that sanctifies.

But you, when you came here, it was to front

Hard-handed men, and trouble them for dues

To stay the fatherless

Portion of what they ploughed.

To claim resource from them whose own resource

Was pittance this you came here to do,

And give for what you gained

Your season of bright youth:

The hunt upon the mountain-side, the dance

Down in the vale; the whisper at the door;

Kiss on unstaying lips

That afterwards would stay;

Music you could have made would make our land

Of noble note and join our different breeds,

And make your name endeared

On roadside and in hall.

All this was changed, as when the warm stream

Setting through ocean toward vine-bearing isles,

Turns its flow toward capes

Where heather only thrives.

That day that was of battles and hard pledges

Has all been changed into this whitened morn-

Music and holiday,

And benediction bells.