Poems (Dorr)/Three Days
THREE DAYS
I.
What shall I bring to lay upon thy bier O Yesterday! thou day forever dead? With what strange garlands shall I crown thy head,Thou silent One? For rose and rue are nearWhich thou thyself didst bring me; heart's-ease clear. And dark in purple opulence that shed Rare odors round; wormwood, and herbs that fedMy soul with bitterness—they all are here!When to the banquet I was called by thee Thou gavest me rags and royal robes to wear; Honey and aloes mingled in the cupOf costly wine that thou didst pour for me; Thy throne, thy footstool, thou didst bid me share; On crusts and heavenly manna bade me sup!
II.
Thou art no dreamer, O thou stern To-day! The dead past had its dreams; the real is thine. An armored knight, in panoply divine,It is not thine to loiter by the way,Though all the meads with summer flowers be gay, Though birds sing for thee, and though fair stars shine, And every god pours for thee life's best wine!Nor friend nor foe hath strength to bid thee stay. Gleaming beneath thy brows with smouldering fire Thine eyes look out upon the eternal hills As forth thou ridest with thy spear in rest.From the far heights a voice cries, "Come up higher!" And in swift answer all thy being thrills, When lo! 'tis night—thy sun is in the west!
III.
But thou, To-morrow! never yet was born In earth's dull atmosphere a thing so fair— Never yet tripped, with footsteps light as air,So glad a vision o'er the hills of morn!Fresh as the radiant dawning—all unworn By lightest touch of sorrow, or of care, Thou dost the glory of the morning shareBy snowy wings of hope and faith upborne!O fair To-morrow! what our souls have missed Art thou not keeping for us, somewhere, still? The buds of promise that have never blown—The tender lips that we have never kissed— The song whose high, sweet strain eludes our skill— The one white pear! that life hath never known!