 | The Finding of The Book and Other Poems |  |
129
I
Strike, strike the golden lyre,Sound forth the measured praise of something higher
Than fair adventures be or battle's breath of fire—
Not tales that burn or thrill
So much as the unconquerable will,
The patience better than heroic pride.
Wherever this doth yet abide,
There is the making of a martyr still;
There is the gentleness that alone is great,
There is the purity inviolate,
There are the noble noiseless things
Whose genuine glory shall see out
The roses and the palms of emperors and kings.
Not with a battle-kindling fire,
Not to keep tune with war's sonorous shout,
Strike strike the golden lyre!
| The Finding of The Book and Other Poems | |