The Complete Poetical Works of Robert Buchanan In Two Volumes. With a Portrait |
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The Tree of Life. |
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The Complete Poetical Works of Robert Buchanan | ||
II. The Tree of Life.
The Master said:
‘I have planted the Seed of a Tree,
It shall be strangely fed
With white dew and with red,
And the Gardeners shall be three—
Regret, Hope, Memory!’
‘I have planted the Seed of a Tree,
It shall be strangely fed
With white dew and with red,
And the Gardeners shall be three—
Regret, Hope, Memory!’
The Master smiled:
For the Seed that He had set
Broke presently through the mould,
With a glimmer of green and gold,
And the Angels' eyes were wet—
Hope, Memory, Regret.
For the Seed that He had set
Broke presently through the mould,
With a glimmer of green and gold,
And the Angels' eyes were wet—
Hope, Memory, Regret.
The Master cried:
‘It liveth—breatheth—see!
Its soft lips open wide—
It looks from side to side—
How strange they gleam on me,
The little dim eyes of the Tree!’
‘It liveth—breatheth—see!
Its soft lips open wide—
It looks from side to side—
285
The little dim eyes of the Tree!’
The Master said:
‘After a million years,
The Seed I set and fed
To itself hath gatherëd
All the world's smiles and tears—
How mighty it appears!’
‘After a million years,
The Seed I set and fed
To itself hath gatherëd
All the world's smiles and tears—
How mighty it appears!’
The Master said:
‘At last, at last, I see
A Blossom, a Blossom o' red
From the heart of the Tree is shed.
Fairer it seems to be
Than the Tree, or the leaves o' the Tree.’
‘At last, at last, I see
A Blossom, a Blossom o' red
From the heart of the Tree is shed.
Fairer it seems to be
Than the Tree, or the leaves o' the Tree.’
The Master cried:
‘O Angels, that guard the Tree,
A Blossom, a Blossom divine
Grows on this greenwood of mine:
What may this Blossom be?
Name this Blossom to me!’
‘O Angels, that guard the Tree,
A Blossom, a Blossom divine
Grows on this greenwood of mine:
What may this Blossom be?
Name this Blossom to me!’
The Master smiled;
For the Angels answered thus:
‘Our tears have nourish'd the same,
We have given it a name
That seemeth fit to us—
We have called it Spiritus.’
For the Angels answered thus:
‘Our tears have nourish'd the same,
We have given it a name
That seemeth fit to us—
We have called it Spiritus.’
The Master said:
‘This Flower no Seed shall bear
But hither on a day
My beautiful Child shall stray,
And shall snatch it unaware,
And wreath it in his hair.’
‘This Flower no Seed shall bear
But hither on a day
My beautiful Child shall stray,
And shall snatch it unaware,
And wreath it in his hair.’
The Master smiled:
‘The Tree shall never bear—
Seedless shall perish the Tree,
But the Flower my Child's shall be;
He will pluck the Flower and wear,
Till it withers in his hair!’
‘The Tree shall never bear—
Seedless shall perish the Tree,
But the Flower my Child's shall be;
He will pluck the Flower and wear,
Till it withers in his hair!’
The Complete Poetical Works of Robert Buchanan | ||