Prince Amadis: 211ÔÇô220
CCXI.
When he yearned for deep silence he dwelt in the moon,
Where the earth looked like thirteen moons melted in one;
If his eyes ached with this, earthless homes he could find
In the side that looks always away from mankind.
CCXII.
Then he dived thro' the holes in the black-spotted vest
Of bright blinding matter around the sun's breast;
And he might have learned lessons there, — how hearts of pride
May be colder than ice, with their fire all outside.
CCXIII.
The world was all written, without and within,
With wonderful sciences, such as might win
A philosopher's heart to a glorious excess
Of intellectual blessedness.
CCXIV.
No cloud rode more softly than he rode in air;
He could live under water; the thin void could bear
Of sidereal spaces; and such was the bliss
Of the untoilsome travel of Prince Amadis.
CCXV.
Are you hungry, Prince Amadis, hungry for kindness;
Are you dazzled with matter-light, praying for blindness, —
A blindness that sees a sweet twilight all round it,
Earth's sorrows, earth's hopes, earth's affections that bound it.
CCXVI.
Wilt thou come, gentle Amadis, down from thy mountain,
And be bathed straightway in the Lethe-like fountain,
Where men's hearts forget all the grand world outside,
And in humbling and human things cast off their pride.
CCXVII.
The waters will be in thee fountains of tears,
To brighten dim eyes, break the hard hearts of fears,
And teach thee that he 'bove all poets is blest,
To whom beauty is second thought, duty is best.
CCXVIII.
Through the love of our neighbor we go to love God,
Or it may be that God to our kind is the road;
And of all the fair things in the broad human mind
The most lovely by far is the love of our kind.
CCXIX.
Do good to thy fellows, and thy heart shall not miss
These visions of matter, fancy's riot and bliss;
Thou wilt think it almost waste of time to unravel
This star-moon-and-earthly confusion of travel.
CCXX.
It is vain to upbraid him; the time is not come:
He is drunken with sunshine; he will not seek home;
There is no earth as yet in his heart; we must wait,
And sit up for our traveller, should he be late.
When he yearned for deep silence he dwelt in the moon,
Where the earth looked like thirteen moons melted in one;
If his eyes ached with this, earthless homes he could find
In the side that looks always away from mankind.
CCXII.
Then he dived thro' the holes in the black-spotted vest
Of bright blinding matter around the sun's breast;
And he might have learned lessons there, — how hearts of pride
May be colder than ice, with their fire all outside.
CCXIII.
The world was all written, without and within,
With wonderful sciences, such as might win
A philosopher's heart to a glorious excess
Of intellectual blessedness.
CCXIV.
No cloud rode more softly than he rode in air;
He could live under water; the thin void could bear
Of sidereal spaces; and such was the bliss
Of the untoilsome travel of Prince Amadis.
CCXV.
Are you hungry, Prince Amadis, hungry for kindness;
Are you dazzled with matter-light, praying for blindness, —
A blindness that sees a sweet twilight all round it,
Earth's sorrows, earth's hopes, earth's affections that bound it.
CCXVI.
Wilt thou come, gentle Amadis, down from thy mountain,
And be bathed straightway in the Lethe-like fountain,
Where men's hearts forget all the grand world outside,
And in humbling and human things cast off their pride.
CCXVII.
The waters will be in thee fountains of tears,
To brighten dim eyes, break the hard hearts of fears,
And teach thee that he 'bove all poets is blest,
To whom beauty is second thought, duty is best.
CCXVIII.
Through the love of our neighbor we go to love God,
Or it may be that God to our kind is the road;
And of all the fair things in the broad human mind
The most lovely by far is the love of our kind.
CCXIX.
Do good to thy fellows, and thy heart shall not miss
These visions of matter, fancy's riot and bliss;
Thou wilt think it almost waste of time to unravel
This star-moon-and-earthly confusion of travel.
CCXX.
It is vain to upbraid him; the time is not come:
He is drunken with sunshine; he will not seek home;
There is no earth as yet in his heart; we must wait,
And sit up for our traveller, should he be late.
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