 | The Ballad of Babie Bell And Other Poems |  |
70
A POET'S GRAVE.
In this pleasant beechen shade
Where the wild-rose blossoms red,
Lieth one who, being dead,
Is neither matron, man, nor maid.
Where the wild-rose blossoms red,
Lieth one who, being dead,
Is neither matron, man, nor maid.
But once he wore the form of God,
And walked the earth with meaner things:
Death snapt him. See! above him springs
The very grass whereon he trod!
And walked the earth with meaner things:
Death snapt him. See! above him springs
The very grass whereon he trod!
Let the world swing to and fro,
The slant rain fall, the wind blow strong:
Time cannot do him any wrong
While he is wrapped and cradled so!
The slant rain fall, the wind blow strong:
Time cannot do him any wrong
While he is wrapped and cradled so!
Ah, much he suffered in his day:
He knelt with Virtue, kissed with Sin—
Wild Passion's child, and Sorrow's twin,
A meteor that had lost its way!
He knelt with Virtue, kissed with Sin—
Wild Passion's child, and Sorrow's twin,
A meteor that had lost its way!
71
He walked with goblins, ghouls, and things
Unsightly,—terrors and despairs;
And ever in the starry airs
A dismal raven flapped its wings!
Unsightly,—terrors and despairs;
And ever in the starry airs
A dismal raven flapped its wings!
He died. Six people bore his pall;
And three were sorry, three were not:
They buried him, and then forgot
His very grave—the lot of all!
And three were sorry, three were not:
They buried him, and then forgot
His very grave—the lot of all!
But strains of music here and there,
Weird children whom nobody owns,
Are blown across the fragrant zones
Forever in the midnight air!
Weird children whom nobody owns,
Are blown across the fragrant zones
Forever in the midnight air!
| The Ballad of Babie Bell And Other Poems | |