Classic Poem

I

M AY-TIME and August, November, and over the winter to May-time,
Year after year, or shaken by nearness of imminent battle,
Or as remote from the stir as an isle of the sleepy Pacific,
Here, at least, I have tasted peace in the pauses of labor,
Rest as of sleep, the gradual growth of deliberate Nature.
Here, escaped from the conflict of taste, the confusion of voices
Heard in a land where the form of Art abides as a stranger,
Come to me definite hopes and clearer possible duties,
Faith in the steadfast service, content with tardy achievement.
Here, in men, I have found the elements working as elsewhere,
Ever betraying the surge and swell of invisible currents,
Which, from beneath, from the deepest bases of thought in the people
Press, and heavy with change, and filled with visions unspoken,
Bear us onward to shape the formless face of the Future.

II

Now, if the tree I planted for mine must shadow another's,
If the uncounted tender memories, sown with the seasons,
Filling the webs of ivy, the grove, the terrace of roses,
Clothing the lawn with unwithering green, the orchard with blossoms,
Singing a finer song to the exquisite motion of waters,
Breathing profounder calm from the dark Dodonian oak-trees,
Now must be lost, till, haply, the hearts of others renew them,—
Yet we have had and enjoyed, we have and enjoy them forever.
Drops from the bough the fruit that here was sunnily ripened:
Other will grow as well on the westward slope of the garden.
Sorrowing not, nor driven forth by the sword of an angel,
Nay, but borne by a fuller tide as a ship from the harbor,
Slowly out of our eyes the pastoral bliss of the landscape
Fades, and is dim, and sinks below the rim of the ocean.

III

Sorrowing not, I have said: with thee was the ceasing of sorrow.
Hope from thy lips I have drawn, and subtler strength from thy spirit,
Sharer of dream and of deed, inflexible conscience of Beauty!
Though as a Grace thou art dear, as a guardian Muse thou art earnest,
Walking with purer feet the paths of song that I venture,
Side by side, unwearied, in cheerful, encouraging silence.
Not thy constant woman's heart alone I have wedded;
One are we made in patience and faith and high aspiration.
Thus, at last, the light of the fortunate age is recovered:
Thus, wherever we wander, the shrine and the oracle follow!