Words for the Hour/As it Seems
AS IT SEEMS.
Two faces, once familiar, that againSnatch silent greeting, with a crowd between;But they long parted—set on heights of TimeThat gulfs divide, and constant shadows screen.
The veil of separation rent in twain,Their eyes as in a dim cathedral met,Whose arches from the swiftly pairing yearsIts crystals from the glow of Hope, were set.
Its Saints, the holy figures of the Dead,Fleeting, yet fixed as Love, the ever-true;While, glimmering, thro' the ruined portal showsLike a far dream, Youth's sunny sky of blue.
Iconoclastic Fortune spares the hut—The toil-browned peasant, and his patient wife,With little scope of sorrow or desire,Live out their harmless, vegetative life.
But we, who strove to raise a pile on highFit to embrace the organ-tone of Time,Who gave to weightiest thoughts an upward lift,Laying broad reasons, rounding rhyme to rhyme,
Stand thunder-smitten, yet with stern commandTo bear Life's devastations, since our fallThat else were solemnly desired, should bringOur gentle Parasites to ruin, all.
For theirs is Beauty's office—she must flingHer glowing mantle o'er all havoc made;Soothing Decay with tireless servicesThat cannot be commanded, nor repaid.