His piercing and eternal cadence rings Too pure for us -- too powerfully pure, Too lovingly triumphant, and too large;But there are some that hear him, and they know That he shall sing to-morrow for all men, And that all time shall listen.
The master-songs are ended? Rather say No songs are ended that are ever sung, And that no names are dead names.When we write Men's letters on proud marble or on sand, We write them there forever.
The Chorus of Old Men in "Aegeus"
Ye gods that have a home beyond the world, Ye that have eyes for all man's agony, Ye that have seen this woe that we have seen, --Look with a just regard, And with an even grace, Here on the shattered corpse of a shattered king, Here on a suffering world where men grow old And wander like sad shadows till, at last, Out of the flare of life, Out of the whirl of years, Into the mist they go, Into the mist of death.
O shades of you that loved him long before The cruel threads of that black sail were spun, May loyal arms and ancient welcomings Receive him once again Who now no longer moves Here in this flickering dance of changing days, Where a battle is lost and won for a withered wreath, And the black master Death is over all, To chill with his approach, To level with his touch, The reigning strength of youth, The fluttered heart of age.
Woe for the fateful day when Delphi's word was lost --Woe for the loveless prince of Aethra's line!
Woe for a father's tears and the curse of a king's release --Woe for the wings of pride and the shafts of doom! --And thou, the saddest wind That ever blew from Crete, Sing the fell tidings back to that thrice unhappy ship! --Sing to the western flame, Sing to the dying foam, A dirge for the sundered years and a dirge for the years to be!
Better his end had been as the end of a cloudless day, Bright, by the word of Zeus, with a golden star, Wrought of a golden fame, and flung to the central sky, To gleam on a stormless tomb for evermore: --Whether or not there fell To the touch of an alien hand The sheen of his purple robe and the shine of his diadem, Better his end had been To die as an old man dies, --But the fates are ever the fates, and a crown is ever a crown.
The WildernessCome away! come away! there's a frost along the marshes, And a frozen wind that skims the shoal where it shakes the dead black water;There's a moan across the lowland and a wailing through the woodland Of a dirge that sings to send us back to the arms of those that love us.
There is nothing left but ashes now where the crimson chills of autumn Put off the summer's languor with a touch that made us glad For the glory that is gone from us, with a flight we cannot follow, To the slopes of other valleys and the sounds of other shores.
Come away! come away! you can hear them calling, calling, Calling us to come to them, and roam no more.
Over there beyond the ridges and the land that lies between us, There's an old song calling us to come!
Come away! come away! -- for the scenes we leave behind us Are barren for the lights of home and a flame that's young forever;And the lonely trees around us creak the warning of the night-wind, That love and all the dreams of love are away beyond the mountains.
The songs that call for us to-night, they have called for men before us, And the winds that blow the message, they have blown ten thousand years;But this will end our wander-time, for we know the joy that waits us In the strangeness of home-coming, and a faithful woman's eyes.
Come away! come away! there is nothing now to cheer us --Nothing now to comfort us, but love's road home: --Over there beyond the darkness there's a window gleams to greet us, And a warm hearth waits for us within.
Come away! come away! -- or the roving-fiend will hold us, And make us all to dwell with him to the end of human faring:
There are no men yet can leave him when his hands are clutched upon them, There are none will own his enmity, there are none will call him brother.
So we'll be up and on the way, and the less we brag the better For the freedom that God gave us and the dread we do not know: --The frost that skips the willow-leaf will again be back to blight it, And the doom we cannot fly from is the doom we do not see.
Come away! come away! there are dead men all around us --Frozen men that mock us with a wild, hard laugh That shrieks and sinks and whimpers in the shrill November rushes, And the long fall wind on the lake.
