 | Poems |  |
147
VII.
THE ETERNAL LANDSCAPE.
There weeps a landscape that some mortals see,
Whose time slips on to noble purpose fair,
And of an hour escaped from carking care
That sight is star of their nativity.
Whose time slips on to noble purpose fair,
And of an hour escaped from carking care
That sight is star of their nativity.
Falls the warm, mellow light on field and tree,
Almost it will their breathing overbear
To find this world such holy robe does wear,
And sinketh through them, privilege to be.
Almost it will their breathing overbear
To find this world such holy robe does wear,
And sinketh through them, privilege to be.
That time is dead,—so the swift crowd will say
Of human beings creeping down in woe,
Yet to the true, in that long-passed day
Of human beings creeping down in woe,
Yet to the true, in that long-passed day
Is parent of the chief they really know;
And casting off external busy clay,
A world of memory lies like glass below.
And casting off external busy clay,
A world of memory lies like glass below.
| Poems | |