Page:Poems Dorr.djvu/322

Or sorrow tolls her knells,
Or where in cloister cells
The scholar trims his lamp—
Wearing the sword, the gown,
The motley of the clown,
The beggar's rags, the dole
Of the remorseful soul,
The wedding-robe, the ring,
The shroud's white blossoming,
O myriad-minded man,
Thus thine immortal clan
Passed down the endless ways
Of the eternal days!

Then said I to my spirit:
"These are they who wore the crown3
Well the king's sons may inherit
All his glory and renown.
Where are they—the songs unsung
By the humbler bards whose lyres
Through earth's lowly vales have rung,
Like the notes of woodland choirs?
They whose silver-sandalled feet
Never climbed the clouds to meet?"

Where?—The air grew full of laughter
Low and sweet, and following after
Came the softest breath of singing
As if lily bells were ringing;
And from all the happy closes,
Crowned with daisies, crowned with roses,
Bearing woodland ferns for palm-boughs in their hands,
From the dim secluded places,
Through the wide enchanted spaces,