There was a time: we were young princelings then In artless state, with brows as bright and clear As morning light on a new morning land. We gave and took with innocent hands, not knowing If we were rich or poor, or thinking at all Of yours or mine; we were newcomers still, And to have asked the use of that or this, Its price, commodity, profit would have been Discourtesy to it and shame to us. We saw the earth stretched out to us in welcome, But in our hearts we were the welcomers, And so were courteous to all that was In high simplicity and natural pride To be so hailed and greeted with such glory (Like absentminded kings who are proffered all And need not have a penny in their pockets). And when the elders told the ancestral stories, Even as they spoke we knew the characters, The good and bad, the simple and sly, the heroes, Each in his place, and chance that turns the tale To grief or joy; we saw and accepted all. Then in the irreversible noonday came, Showering its darts into our open breasts, Doubt that kills courtesy and gratitude. Since then we have led our dull discourteous lives, Heaven doubting and earth doubting. Earth and heaven Bent to our menial use. And yet sometimes We still, as through a dream that comes and goes, Know what we are, remembering what we were |