SEVEN
THINGS
|
|
THE
fields of earth are sown
From the hand of the
striding rain,
And kernels of joy are strewn
Abroad for the harrow
of pain. |
|
I
|
|
| The
first song-sparrow brown |
5 |
That
wakes the earliest spring,
When time and fear sink down,
And death is a fabled
thing. |
|
II
|
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The
stealing of that first dawn
Over the rosy brow, |
10 |
When
thy soul said, "World, fare on,
For Heaven is here
and now!" |
|
III
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The
crimson shield of the sun
On the wall of this
House of Doom,
With the garb of war undone |
15 |
| At
last in the narrow room. |
|
IV
|
|
A heart
that abides to the end,
As the hills for sureness
and peace,
And is neither weary to wend
Nor reluctant at last
of release. |
20 |
V
|
|
Thy
mother’s cradle croon
To haunt thee over
the deep,
Out of the land of Boon
Into the land of Sleep. |
|
VI
|
|
| The
sound of the sea in storm, |
25 |
Hearing
its captain cry,
When the wild, white riders form,
And the Ride to the
Dark draws nigh. |
|
VII
|
|
But
last and best, the urge
Of the great world’s
desire, |
30 |
Whose
being from core to verge
Only attains to aspire. |
|
|
