 | [Poems by Woolson in] Constance Fenimore Woolson |  |
HERO WORSHIP.
“He is not what you think.” O judges wise,
Can we not have Valhalla of our own
Within our hearts, where all the souls we prize
Shall sit in state, each on his royal throne?
What matter if we do not always choose
The few whose names, well-weighed, ye write above
As laurel-worthy: do ye then refuse
Our heart's free right to honour whom we love?
Can we not have Valhalla of our own
Within our hearts, where all the souls we prize
Shall sit in state, each on his royal throne?
What matter if we do not always choose
The few whose names, well-weighed, ye write above
As laurel-worthy: do ye then refuse
Our heart's free right to honour whom we love?
Rest regnant in your reasonable choice,
The two or three ye crown with cautious care;
Nor they, nor ye, need miss our wanting voice
Among the plaudits filling all the air.
The crowd will have its god with robe and crown
To worship; but for us, we must be free
To follow when the stars seem pointing down,
To love when souls seem full of royalty.
The two or three ye crown with cautious care;
Nor they, nor ye, need miss our wanting voice
Among the plaudits filling all the air.
The crowd will have its god with robe and crown
To worship; but for us, we must be free
To follow when the stars seem pointing down,
To love when souls seem full of royalty.
545
Ye smile because we cherish still a throng
Of students of the hue, the form, the tone,
The verse, the stage, the romance and the song,
Not for deep reasons, but for love alone,
We do not coldly wait till death shall place
The seal upon their works; but here and now
We love them, as we see them face to face;
Before them, warm in loyalty, we bow.
Of students of the hue, the form, the tone,
The verse, the stage, the romance and the song,
Not for deep reasons, but for love alone,
We do not coldly wait till death shall place
The seal upon their works; but here and now
We love them, as we see them face to face;
Before them, warm in loyalty, we bow.
Those whom we cherish may not all attain
A crown so bright that the whole world can view;
But is it not a diadem to gain,
The having been a glory to a few?
Should one prove false to all our hope and trust,
Should our fair marble turn to common clay,
Silent we lay the pall over the dust,
And from our temple bear our dead away.
A crown so bright that the whole world can view;
But is it not a diadem to gain,
The having been a glory to a few?
Should one prove false to all our hope and trust,
Should our fair marble turn to common clay,
Silent we lay the pall over the dust,
And from our temple bear our dead away.
What is one false among a thousand true—
A thousand opening lives so well begun!
“He is no hero, as you think,” say you?
Well, then, our faith shall help to make him one.
Back, judges, to your work of weighing, slow,
The dead ye destine to Fame's courts above!
But leave us free to worship here below
With faith and hope the living whom we love.
A thousand opening lives so well begun!
“He is no hero, as you think,” say you?
Well, then, our faith shall help to make him one.
Back, judges, to your work of weighing, slow,
The dead ye destine to Fame's courts above!
But leave us free to worship here below
With faith and hope the living whom we love.
Constance Fenimore Woolson.
| [Poems by Woolson in] Constance Fenimore Woolson | |