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Thy curse it was to see and hear
And dearly thou didst rue it.
“ Thou sow'st no gold, and shalt not reap!'
As of thy doom o'erflying ;
But not with fear of dying ;
Of bitter self-denying;
Of brothers who denied it ;
Star-crowned, thou dost possess the deeps Of God, and thy white body sleeps Where the lone pine for ever keeps
Patient watch beside it.
Poet! underneath the turf,
Soft thou sleepest, free from morrow; Thou hast struggled through the surf
Of wild thoughts, and want, and sorrow; Now, beneath the moaning pine,
Full of rest thy body lieth, While, far up in pure sunshine, Underneath a sky divine,
Her loosed wings thy spirit trieth ; Oft she strove to spread them here, But they were too white and clear For our dingy atmosphere.
Thy body findeth ample room
By the silent river ;
But thy spirit found the earth
Which it dreamed of ever;
For the low-hung sky of Time.
The calm spot where thy body lies
It is so still and holy;
and sweet a frame
Gentle as a maiden ;
From so pure
Now it hath its full of rest,
Sods are lighter on its breast
Wherewith it was laden.
THE SHEPHERD OF KING ADMETUS.
THERE came a youth upon the earth,
Some thousand years ago,
He made a lyre, and drew therefrom
Music so strange and rich,
But King Admetus, one who had
Pure taste by right divine,
And so, well-pleased with being soothed
Into a sweet half-sleep, Three times his kingly beard he smoothed, And made him viceroy o'er his sheep.
His words were simple words enough
And yet he used them so,
Men called him but a shiftless youth,
In whom no good they saw ; And yet, unwittingly, in truth, They made his careless words their law.
They knew not how he learned at all,
For, long hour after hour, He sat and watched the dead leaves fall, Or mused upon a common flower.
It seemed the loveliness of things
Did teach him all their use,