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A VISION OF POETS.
And poor, proud Byron,—sad as grave
And salt as life! forlornly brave,
And quivering with the dart he drave.
And salt as life! forlornly brave,
And quivering with the dart he drave.
And visionary Coleridge, who
Did sweep his thoughts as angels do
Their wings, with cadence up the Blue.
Did sweep his thoughts as angels do
Their wings, with cadence up the Blue.
These poets faced (and other more)
The lighted altar booming o'er
The clouds of incense dim and hoar:
The lighted altar booming o'er
The clouds of incense dim and hoar:
And all their faces, in the lull
Of natural things, looked wonderful
With life and death and deathless rule!
Of natural things, looked wonderful
With life and death and deathless rule!
All, still as stone, and yet intense;
As if by spirit's vehemence
That stone were carved, and not by sense.
As if by spirit's vehemence
That stone were carved, and not by sense.
All still and calm as statue stone!
The life lay coiled unforegone
Up in the awful eyes alone,
The life lay coiled unforegone
Up in the awful eyes alone,
And flung its length out through the air
Into whatever eyes should dare
To front them—Awful shapes and fair!
Into whatever eyes should dare
To front them—Awful shapes and fair!
But where the heart of each should beat,
There seemed a wound instead of it,
From whence the blood dropped to their feet,
There seemed a wound instead of it,
From whence the blood dropped to their feet,
Drop after drop—dropped heavily,
As century follows century
Into the deep eternity.
As century follows century
Into the deep eternity.
Then said the lady—and her word
Came distant,—as wide waves were stirred
Between her and the ear that heard;—
Came distant,—as wide waves were stirred
Between her and the ear that heard;—
"World's use is cold—world's love is vain,—
World's cruelty is bitter bane;
But pain is not the fruit of pain.
World's cruelty is bitter bane;
But pain is not the fruit of pain.
