HE rests at last, as on the mother-breast The playworn child at evening lies at rest, -- For he, a buoyant child, in veriest truth, Has looked on life with eyes of changeless youth: -- Has loved our green old earth here from the hour Of his first memory of bud and flower -- Of morning's grassy lawns and dewy trees And orchard-blossoms, singing birds and bees: When all the world about him was a land Elysian, with the mother near at hand: With steadfast gaze of wonder and delight He marked the miracles of day and night: -- Beheld the kingly sun, in dazzling reign By day; and, with her glittering, glimmering train Of stars, he saw the queenly moon possess Her throne in midmost midnight's mightiness. All living least of things he ever knew Of mother Earth's he was a brother to: The lone rose by the brook -- or, under, where The swaying water-lilies anchored there; His love dipped even to the glossy things That walked the waters and forgot their wings In sheer insanity of some delight Known but to that ecstatic parasite. It was enough, thus childishly to sense All works -- since worthy of Omnipotence -- As worshipful: Therefor, as any child, He knelt in tenderness of tears, or smiled His gratefulness, as to a playmate glad To share His pleasures with a poorer lad. And so he lived: And so he @3died?@1 -- Ah, no, We'll not believe that till he tells us so. |