The Tyrant

ONE comes with foot insistent to my door,

Calling my name;

Nor voice nor footstep have I heard before,

Yet clear the calling sounds and o'er and o'er —

It seems the sunlight burns along the floor

With paler flame!

“‘ Tis vain to call with morning on the wing,

With noon so near,

With Life a dancer in the masque of Spring

And Youth new wedded with a golden ring —

When falls the night and birds have ceased to sing

My heart may hear!

“‘ Tis vain to pause. Pass, friend, upon your way!

I may not heed;

Too swift the hours; too sweet, too brief the day:

Only one life, one spring, one perfect May —

I crush each moment, with its sweets to stay

Life's joyous greed!

“Call not again! The wind is roaming by

Across the heath —

The Wind's a tell-tale and will bear your sigh

To dim the smiling gladness of the sky

Or kill the spring's first violets that lie

In purple sheath —

“If you must call, call low! My heart grows still,

Still as my breath,

Still as your smile, O Ancient One! A chill

Strikes through the sun upon the window-sill —

I know you now — I follow where you will,

O tyrant Death!”