 | Ariel and Caliban with other poems |  |
13
III.
Sunrise.Caliban
(waking).
What, is he gone! Or is it another dream?
It is my fate, I think, still to be duped
With visions and with shows. Perhaps now he
Was the man in the moon—Perhaps we'll meet again.
He may have said the truth. And yet, somehow,
I dropped asleep as when I hear the wind
Sing in the pines, or listen to the fall
Of streams in drowsy summer afternoons.
I do begin to love this spirit—albeit
He spoke in praise of Prosper. Prosper?—well—
It may be that I knew him not—who knows?
I am glad he has sailed away though. Setebos!
What—sunrise! Did I sleep so long? In faith
I know it, for I'm hungry. I will dig
Some mussels from the sand, and pick some fruits.
I'm not a cub, it seems—said he not so?—
But made for better things; no slave—a man
Fit to be talked with, and not called vile names—
Made of the same stuff with that Prospero—
Ah ha! good stuff, do you see?—the very same—
Only a little soiled. We'll see—we'll see.
14
The golden sun the clouds hath kissed
And fires the hilltops grim and old.
And down the valley melts the mist
And turns the earth to gold.
And fires the hilltops grim and old.
And down the valley melts the mist
And turns the earth to gold.
The lordly soul is lord of all.
The heart that loves its human-kind,
Where'er its warming sunbeams fall,
Leaves night and death behind.
The heart that loves its human-kind,
Where'er its warming sunbeams fall,
Leaves night and death behind.
Caliban.
Fine sprite, I hear you: think I love you too.
I'll follow you—though what you said to me
Is hard to understand. I'll hear you talk
Again; but first of all must eat and drink.
Made of the same stuff with that Prospero?
No beast—no slave! well—this is something new.
| Ariel and Caliban with other poems | |