26
L'ENVOI
Now my frail raft of dream, adrift so long,
Regains its creek, unships its fragile mast
And floats into the shade,
Borne inward on the tide of surgent song
From the bright ranks still marshalled in the glade,
Of which this echo only lingers last:—
These are of them who count a God for friend;
Who, standing in their lot, abide the End.
Wherefore about the altar of their God
Shall they too serve with that anointed choir
Who, in the lone, diverging paths they trod,
Redeemed his earth-strewn jewels from the mire,
And singing as they came,
Reset them in their carcanets of flame.
Last of the Mighty, to their ranks ascend!
Then song and vision faded and were past.
Waking, aloft a waxen moon rode high
Amid the still battalions of the sky.
About me, drowsy odours of the Spring:
A sense of uncouth watchers vanishing.
