Flower o' the thorn A book of wayside verse: By John Payne |
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FELLOW-EXILES. |
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| VII. |
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 | Flower o' the thorn |  |
FELLOW-EXILES.
THE winter sun on me looks with his blear-eyed blink,
As if to question, “Here what do we, thou and I,
“I, that was born to throne amidst a tropic sky,
“And thou, the draught of dreams at Nature's fount to drink?
“Why to this darkling town, where Day upon the brink
“Still trembles of the Night, have we been banished, why
“Among this dullard folk condemned to live and die,
“Whose business is to eat and sleep and not to think? ”
As if to question, “Here what do we, thou and I,
“I, that was born to throne amidst a tropic sky,
“And thou, the draught of dreams at Nature's fount to drink?
“Why to this darkling town, where Day upon the brink
“Still trembles of the Night, have we been banished, why
“Among this dullard folk condemned to live and die,
“Whose business is to eat and sleep and not to think? ”
Meseemeth, thou, as I, art weary of thy task,
Old sun, yet runnest still thy round from near to far,
Untiring; and in this, no less, alike we are,
That to the general gaze a blank unblenching mask
Of silentness we turn, as overproud to ask
The ease that is the meed of meaner man and star,
But which the constant pride of souls like ours would mar:
The noblest wine is still and silent in the cask.
Old sun, yet runnest still thy round from near to far,
Untiring; and in this, no less, alike we are,
That to the general gaze a blank unblenching mask
Of silentness we turn, as overproud to ask
The ease that is the meed of meaner man and star,
But which the constant pride of souls like ours would mar:
The noblest wine is still and silent in the cask.
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Long since have I forborne to question that which seems
Of that which is. Long use hath dulled the edge of pain.
Along Life's lightless ways, athwart its mist and rain,
I fare, as one that goes, unquestioning, in dreams.
How should a world be ware of what th'Eternal deems,
That through Time's sandglass drops, an unregarded grain?
For me, I am content if ever and again
A ray of sunlight rest upon Life's troubled streams.
Of that which is. Long use hath dulled the edge of pain.
Along Life's lightless ways, athwart its mist and rain,
I fare, as one that goes, unquestioning, in dreams.
How should a world be ware of what th'Eternal deems,
That through Time's sandglass drops, an unregarded grain?
For me, I am content if ever and again
A ray of sunlight rest upon Life's troubled streams.
Old star, what profits it to ask, when answer none
There is, alack! to find in earth or sky or sea?
The eye art thou of Heaven and yet no cause canst see
Why Life for thee is Life or me or any one.
Yet in this gaol of grief, this web of dreams thin-spun,
Wherein my lot for life entangled is to be,
Without a waymate soul, some solace sad to me
For fellow-exile 'tis to have th'all-suffering sun.
There is, alack! to find in earth or sky or sea?
The eye art thou of Heaven and yet no cause canst see
Why Life for thee is Life or me or any one.
Yet in this gaol of grief, this web of dreams thin-spun,
Wherein my lot for life entangled is to be,
Without a waymate soul, some solace sad to me
For fellow-exile 'tis to have th'all-suffering sun.
| Flower o' the thorn | |