 | Fantasy and Passion |  |
119
A KING.
(A certain mood of a certain mind, contemplating death.)
It is more than being great
At the random rule of fate,
To lie as he lies here,
Very awful and austere.
'Tis more than being wise
To repose with placid eyes,
And know not of the wild world that it cries, cries, cries!
At the random rule of fate,
To lie as he lies here,
Very awful and austere.
'Tis more than being wise
To repose with placid eyes,
And know not of the wild world that it cries, cries, cries!
Look ye now, and answer true
If it be as well with you,
That fret and sweat and sin
For the flesh ye weary in,
As with him that bates his breath
And what empty words it saith,
To attain the life diviner, which is death, death, death!
If it be as well with you,
That fret and sweat and sin
For the flesh ye weary in,
As with him that bates his breath
And what empty words it saith,
To attain the life diviner, which is death, death, death!
What of pleasure shall he miss,
With that sovereign ease of his?
What of pain shall reach his ken,
With that marble scorn of men?
Though ye praised him in a psalm,
Though ye smote him of your palm,
Shall ye call him from this haughty sleep and calm, calm, calm?
With that sovereign ease of his?
What of pain shall reach his ken,
With that marble scorn of men?
Though ye praised him in a psalm,
Though ye smote him of your palm,
Shall ye call him from this haughty sleep and calm, calm, calm?
120
Lo, his dumb face turns ye dumb
If to look on him ye come,
Who hath found in cold eclipse
A superb Apocalypse!
Who has had the last bad thing
The deciduous days may bring,
Who is crowned as none but Death could crown him, king, king, king!
If to look on him ye come,
Who hath found in cold eclipse
A superb Apocalypse!
Who has had the last bad thing
The deciduous days may bring,
Who is crowned as none but Death could crown him, king, king, king!
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