THE GREAT CAROUSAL

Oh, do not think me dead when I

Beneath a bit of earth shall lie;

Think not that aught can ever kill

My arrogant and stubborn will.

My buoyant strength, my eager soul,

My stern desire shall keep me whole

And lift me from the drowsy deep...

I shall not even yield to Sleep,

For Death can never take from me

My warm, insatiate energy;

He shall not dare to touch one part

Of the gay challenge of my heart.

And I shall laugh at him, and lie

Happy beneath a laughing sky;

For I have fought too joyously

To let the conqueror conquer me —

I know that, after strengthening strife,

Death cannot quench my love of life;

Rob me of my dear self, my ears

Of music or my eyes of tears...

No, Death shall come in friendlier guise;

The cloths of darkness from my eyes

He shall roll back, and lo, the sea

Of Silence shall not cover me.

He shall make soft my final bed,

Stand, like a servant, at my head;

And, thrilled with all that Death may give,

I shall lie down to rest — and live...

And I shall know within the earth

A softer but a deeper mirth.

The wind shall never troll a song

But I shall hear it borne along,

And echoed long before he passes

By all the little unborn grasses.

I shall be clasped by roots and rains,

Feeding and fed by living grains;

There shall not be a single flower

Above my head but bears my power,

And every butterfly or bee

That tastes the flower shall drink of me.

Ah, we shall share a lip to lip

Carousal and companionship!

The storm, like some great blustering lout,

Shall play his games with me and shout

His joy to all the country-side.

Autumn, sun-tanned and April-eyed,

Shall scamper by and send his hosts

Of leaves, like brown and merry ghosts,

To frolic over me; and stones

Shall feel the dancing in their bones.

And red-cheeked Winter too shall be

A jovial bed-fellow for me,

Setting the startled hours ringing

With boisterous tales and lusty singing.

And, like a mother that has smiled

For years on every tired child,

Summer shall hold me in her lap...

And when the root stirs and the sap

Climbs anxiously beyond the boughs,

And all the friendly worms carouse,

Then, oh, how proudly, we shall sing

Bravuras for the feet of Spring!

And I shall lie forever there

Like some great king, and watch the fair

Young Spring dance on for me, and know

That love and rosy valleys glow

Where'er her blithe feet touch the earth.

And headlong joy and reckless mirth

Seeing her footsteps shall pursue.

Oh, I shall watch her smile and strew

Laughter and life with either hand;

And every quiver of the land,

Shall pierce me, while a joyful wave

Beats in upon my radiant grave.

Aye, like a king in deathless state

I shall be throned, and contemplate

The dying of the years, the vast

Vague panorama of the past,

The march of centuries, the surge

Of ages.... but the deathless urge

Shall stir me always, and my will

Shall laugh to keep me living still;

Thrilling with every call and cry —

Too much in love with life to die.

Content to touch the earth, to hear

The whisper of each waiting year,

To help the stars go proudly by,

To speed the timid grass; and lie,

Sharing, with every movement's breath,

The rich eternity of Death.