 | The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder |  |
“WHEN THE TRUE POET COMES”
“When the true poet comes, how shall we know him?
By what clear token; manners, language, dress?
Or will a voice from heaven speak and show him—
Him the swift healer of the earth's distress?
Tell us, that when the long-expected comes
At last, with mirth and melody and singing,
We him may greet with banners, beat of drums,
Welcome of men and maids and joybells ringing;
And, for this poet of ours,
Laurels and flowers.”
By what clear token; manners, language, dress?
Or will a voice from heaven speak and show him—
Him the swift healer of the earth's distress?
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At last, with mirth and melody and singing,
We him may greet with banners, beat of drums,
Welcome of men and maids and joybells ringing;
And, for this poet of ours,
Laurels and flowers.”
Thus shall ye know him, this shall be his token—
Manners like other men, an unstrange gear;
His speech not musical, but harsh and broken
Will sound at first, each line a driven spear.
For he will sing as in the centuries olden,
Before mankind its earliest fire forgot—
Yet whoso listens long hears music golden.
How shall ye know him? Ye shall know him not
Till, ended hate and scorn,
To the grave he's borne.
Manners like other men, an unstrange gear;
His speech not musical, but harsh and broken
Will sound at first, each line a driven spear.
For he will sing as in the centuries olden,
Before mankind its earliest fire forgot—
Yet whoso listens long hears music golden.
How shall ye know him? Ye shall know him not
Till, ended hate and scorn,
To the grave he's borne.
| The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder | |