THE SINGER

A LITTLE while, with love and youth,

He wandered, singing:—

He felt life's pulses hot and strong

Beat all his rapid veins along;

He wrought life's rhythms into song:

He laughed, he sang the Dawn!

So close, so close to life he dwelt

That at rare times and rapt he felt

The fleshly barriers yield and melt;

He trembled, looking on

Creation at her miracles;

His soul-sight pierced the earthly shells

And saw the spirit weave its spells,

The veil of clay withdrawn;—

A little while, with love and youth,

He wandered, singing!

A little while, with age and death,

He wanders, dreaming;—

No more the thunder and the urge

Of earth's full tides that storm the verge

Of heaven with their sweep and surge

Shall lift, shall bear him on;

Where is the golden hope that led

Him comrade with the mighty dead?

The love that aureoled his head?—

The glory is withdrawn!

How shall one soar with broken wings?

The leagued might of futile things

Wars with the heart that dares and sings;—

It is not always Dawn!

A little while, with age and death,

He wanders, dreaming.