Classic Poem

I

When I shall make my vaunt before the Lord,
I shall not name my thrift of knowledge won:
The winged urns unearthed in Babylon,
The Greek palimpsest wondrously restored,
Nor what of rock or plant in field and fiord
I brought from where the Scandian rivers run,
Nor my Uranian lore of moon and sun,
Nor deep-sea soundings with the lead and cord.

But I shall boast my cunning in Romance:
How, Heart-of-Woman, along a trail in Ind
I met thee footsore on thine ancient quest
And knew thy need with manhood's swiftest glance —
Thy solemn grief so long unmedicined,
The wound thy hand was hiding in thy breast.

II

Nor when I speak my boast before the King,
Shall I proclaim my deeds of song and sight,
My rainbow visions conjured out of night,
My island cities with ships of hope a-wing
Out in the oceans of imagining,
Nor forest hymns upon my mountain height,
Nor the loud paeans to the morning light
In rolling meters of my sea-singing.

But I shall boast how once, O Child of Earth,
Whilst thou wert weeping in the desert South,
I, passing that way with flowers and wine and bread,
Restored for immortality the mirth
Of those blue eyes and kissed thee on the mouth
With sudden hands of joy upon thy head.

III

O when I make my plea before our God,
I shall not boast my sufferance and pain,
The whirlwind snows that blinded on the plain,
The smoke I breathed, the lava fields I trod,
With head unhooded and burning feet unshod,
Nor fettered hours in Houses of Disdain
With anarch Ignorance and Custom Vain,
Nor strength achieved by bowing to the rod.

But I shall boast, O Bride forever bright,
Forever young (with blossoms from the glade,
The hill, the lake I crown thee mistress of),
Delight, delight and evermore delight,
The hearth I kindled and the boat I made,
And quiet years as minister of love.

IV

So when I make my boast before the Throne,
I shall not mention what was mine of praise,
The silver cup for swiftness in the race,
Nor bossed medals stamped with name mine own
For Turk or Tartar in Palaestra thrown,
Nor bells that pealed my battles in old days,
Graved scrolls with civic seals, nor public bays
For the deep thoughts I carved in bronze and stone.

But I shall name, O lyric Life, thy name;
Show the proud tokens, the ring, the odorous hair,
Love's fiery print upon my lips and eyes;
And strip my bosom as 'twere a thing of fame,
And say, " This glorious Lady slumbered there,
And made these arms her earthly Paradise. "