The Poetical Works of John Payne :: :: University of Virginia Library

The dawn of a new age is in the sky;
The crimson presage of the coming sun
Reddens the dark horizon's rim of dun
And life lifts up expectant hands on high:
A new world born is, a new era nigh.

Sun-weary, having watched the old world die;
What reck I if the new world smile or sigh,
Who know both idle? What things shall be done,
What wonders wrought in it, what victories won,
What old quests ended and what new begun,
Me irketh not; I shall not see them, I:
Thank heaven, they are not for my ear and eye.

This world which is to be is none of mine:
Its Gods are not my Gods, not mine its aim.
That which it counteth honour, I hold shame;
It setteth nought by what I deem divine.
Its hopes and fears and mine are not the same;
Not mine its praises are, not mine its blame;
Its griefs are strange to me; its joys I shun,
Fear not its curse nor crave its benison.
For me, its cup is brimmed with poisoned wine,
Its light of life is as a marish flame,
That wiles through moor and fen the wandering one.
In such a world I were a soul in pine,
A disinherited, discarded son,
An unlaid ghost among a alien line.

viii

So is it well for me that Fate the sign
Of life fulfilled hath set against my name,
Marking the meted goal, the ended game:
My tale of labour told, my race nigh run,
I wait my wage, the rest denied to none.

Yet, standing with one foot upon Death's stair,
I turn, these pallid blossoms in my hands,
The idle spoil of thrice-enchanted lands,
Dim garlands gleamed in many a dream-world way,
And cast them forth upon the morning air,
For gift and greeting to the coming day,
Willing them fare without me where they may.