The Last Poems of Richard Watson Dixon ... Selected and Edited by Robert Bridges: With a Preface by M. E. Coleridge |
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THE UNKNOWN KING |
 | The Last Poems of Richard Watson Dixon |  |
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THE UNKNOWN KING
An unknown king was holding court;
Wide was his sceptre, high his throne:
Sorrow and pleasure made him sport,
And yet he was a king unknown.
Wide was his sceptre, high his throne:
Sorrow and pleasure made him sport,
And yet he was a king unknown.
But one who went his earthly way
Suddenly saw the form of him:
Suddenly saw the wide array,
Suddenly saw the splendour dim.
Suddenly saw the form of him:
Suddenly saw the wide array,
Suddenly saw the splendour dim.
And as that wanderer gazed, the king
Turned round, and cast an eye serene;
And stretched his sceptre, beckoning:—
That man on earth no more was seen.
Turned round, and cast an eye serene;
And stretched his sceptre, beckoning:—
That man on earth no more was seen.
He entered in a wondrous hall,
Whose shape was lost in utter size:
He neared not the receding wall,
And phantoms mocked his seeking eyes.
Whose shape was lost in utter size:
He neared not the receding wall,
And phantoms mocked his seeking eyes.
He felt at once both youth and age,
The curious joy, the grey despair:
Beginning thus a pilgrimage,
Which seemed the forms of earth to wear.
The curious joy, the grey despair:
Beginning thus a pilgrimage,
Which seemed the forms of earth to wear.
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He talked with phantoms of a sense
That seemed like phantoms of the brain,
And knew that in the void immense
They too like him had secret pain.
That seemed like phantoms of the brain,
And knew that in the void immense
They too like him had secret pain.
That he to them a phantom seemed
As they to him,[OMITTED]
As they to him,[OMITTED]
And so he turned to seek the king
Who first had beckoned him to come:
He saw him not and shuddering
A moment felt the sense of doom.
Who first had beckoned him to come:
He saw him not and shuddering
A moment felt the sense of doom.
And is it death, to see for once
The awful monarch face to face,
To give his summons one response,
Then wander in a vacant place?
The awful monarch face to face,
To give his summons one response,
Then wander in a vacant place?
And do we cry in hope and fear
‘Then shall we know as we are known’?
How are we known then? Who knows here
Each thought, each word, each pain, each groan?
‘Then shall we know as we are known’?
How are we known then? Who knows here
Each thought, each word, each pain, each groan?
And who shall say the future life
Shall end such things for evermore?
Is not the ghost-world filled with strife?
Shall not all be as heretofore?
Shall end such things for evermore?
Is not the ghost-world filled with strife?
Shall not all be as heretofore?
| The Last Poems of Richard Watson Dixon | |