Or ere it teach and teach His world's deep heart,
Outlasting, therefore, all your lordships, Sir!
So keep your stone, beseech you, for your part,
To cover up your grave-place and refer
The proper titles! I live by my art!
The thought I threw into this snow shall stir
This gazing people when their gaze is done;
And the tradition of your act and mine,
When all the snow is melted in the sun,
Shall gather up, for unborn men, a sign
Of what is the true princedom! ay, and none
Shall laugh that day, except the drunk with wine."
V.
And, if we laugh not on it, shall we weep?
Much more we shall not. Through the mournful hum
Of poets sonneteering in their sleep
'Neath the pale olives, which droop, tickling some
On chin and forehead from a dream too deep,—
Through all that drowsy hum of voices smooth,
The hopeful bird mounts carolling from brake;
The hopeful child, with leaps to catch his growth,
Sings open-eyed for liberty's sweet sake;
And I, who am a singer too, forsooth,
Prefer to sing with these who are awake,
With birds, with babes, with men who will not fear
The baptism of the holy morning dew,
(And many of such wakers now are here,
Complete in their anointed manhood, who
Will greatly dare and greather persevere!)
Than join those old thin voices with my new,
