Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1900.djvu/1006

          Though sore be my burden
            And more than ye know,
          And my growth have no guerdon
            But only to grow,
Yet I fail not of growing for lightnings above me or deathworms below.

          These too have their part in me,
            As I too in these;
          Such fire is at heart in me,
            Such sap is this tree's,
Which hath in it all sounds and all secrets of infinite lands and of seas.

          In the spring-colour'd hours
            When my mind was as May's
          There brake forth of me flowers
            By centuries of days,
Strong blossoms with perfume of manhood, shot out from my spirit as rays.

          And the sound of them springing
            And smell of their shoots
          Were as warmth and sweet singing
            And strength to my roots;
And the lives of my children made perfect with freedom of soul were my fruits.

          I bid you but be;
            I have need not of prayer;
          I have need of you free
            As your mouths of mine air;
That my heart may be greater within me, beholding the fruits of me fair.