 | English Roses |  |
THE EVERLASTING BOY.
The everlasting boy—
Young king, upon the edge of Time
He stood and let his challenge chime
Down ages in his joy.
He saw the sunrise in his face,
Which was the morning's early grace
Yet bore the evening hue;
And in the passion of his pride
He thrust the thought of death aside,
And to himself was true.
He looked the herald of our God,
And in His might and music trod.
Young king, upon the edge of Time
He stood and let his challenge chime
Down ages in his joy.
He saw the sunrise in his face,
Which was the morning's early grace
Yet bore the evening hue;
And in the passion of his pride
He thrust the thought of death aside,
And to himself was true.
He looked the herald of our God,
And in His might and music trod.
The everlasting boy—
He only laughed when peril came
And fronted it as though a game,
The tomb was even his toy.
He played with every form of fear,
And passed a while to re-appear
With insolence Divine;
And out of suffering and the shade,
However grim, his courage made
A dazzling discipline.
Heaven over him grew still more sweet,
And earth a carpet for his feet.
He only laughed when peril came
And fronted it as though a game,
The tomb was even his toy.
He played with every form of fear,
And passed a while to re-appear
With insolence Divine;
And out of suffering and the shade,
However grim, his courage made
A dazzling discipline.
Heaven over him grew still more sweet,
And earth a carpet for his feet.
The everlasting boy—
He has a thousand shining shapes,
And at his richest flower escapes
Our grasp with presence coy.
No poet yet has duly sung
Elusive charms superbly young,
Superbly free and wild;
Unstable as the ocean wind,
With all the ardours of all Ind
Summed in a wanton child.
But when his glory most is shed,
Even as we gaze, the bloom has fled.
He has a thousand shining shapes,
And at his richest flower escapes
Our grasp with presence coy.
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Elusive charms superbly young,
Superbly free and wild;
Unstable as the ocean wind,
With all the ardours of all Ind
Summed in a wanton child.
But when his glory most is shed,
Even as we gaze, the bloom has fled.
The everlasting boy—
Lord of the ages, bright and lone,
He sits upon his mocking throne
Which nothing can destroy.
We love him much, but often dread
The darling terrors of his tread,
That heeds no sacred bounds;
Unturned by loss, untaught by pain,
From broken bars he comes again
To customs he confounds.
But, as he wayward passes by,
Is something of Divinity.
Lord of the ages, bright and lone,
He sits upon his mocking throne
Which nothing can destroy.
We love him much, but often dread
The darling terrors of his tread,
That heeds no sacred bounds;
Unturned by loss, untaught by pain,
From broken bars he comes again
To customs he confounds.
But, as he wayward passes by,
Is something of Divinity.
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