The Man against the Sky | Page 6

I'd never clear away from there the cloud that never clears. We buried what was left of it, -- the bar, too, and the chains; And only for the apple tree there's nothing that remains."
Forty years ago it was I heard the old man say,?"That's all, my son." -- And here again I find the place to-day, Deserted and told only by the tree that knows the most,?And overgrown with golden-rod as if there were no ghost.
Hillcrest
(To Mrs. Edward MacDowell)
No sound of any storm that shakes?Old island walls with older seas?Comes here where now September makes?An island in a sea of trees.
Between the sunlight and the shade?A man may learn till he forgets?The roaring of a world remade,?And all his ruins and regrets;
And if he still remembers here?Poor fights he may have won or lost, --?If he be ridden with the fear?Of what some other fight may cost, --
If, eager to confuse too soon,?What he has known with what may be,?He reads a planet out of tune?For cause of his jarred harmony, --
If here he venture to unroll?His index of adagios,?And he be given to console?Humanity with what he knows, --
He may by contemplation learn?A little more than what he knew,?And even see great oaks return?To acorns out of which they grew.
He may, if he but listen well,?Through twilight and the silence here,?Be told what there are none may tell?To vanity's impatient ear;
And he may never dare again?Say what awaits him, or be sure?What sunlit labyrinth of pain?He may not enter and endure.
Who knows to-day from yesterday?May learn to count no thing too strange:?Love builds of what Time takes away,?Till Death itself is less than Change.
Who sees enough in his duress?May go as far as dreams have gone;?Who sees a little may do less?Than many who are blind have done;
Who sees unchastened here the soul?Triumphant has no other sight?Than has a child who sees the whole?World radiant with his own delight.
Far journeys and hard wandering?Await him in whose crude surmise?Peace, like a mask, hides everything?That is and has been from his eyes;
And all his wisdom is unfound,?Or like a web that error weaves?On airy looms that have a sound?No louder now than falling leaves.
Old King Cole
In Tilbury Town did Old King Cole?A wise old age anticipate,?Desiring, with his pipe and bowl,?No Khan's extravagant estate.?No crown annoyed his honest head,?No fiddlers three were called or needed;?For two disastrous heirs instead?Made music more than ever three did.
Bereft of her with whom his life?Was harmony without a flaw,?He took no other for a wife,?Nor sighed for any that he saw;?And if he doubted his two sons,?And heirs, Alexis and Evander,?He might have been as doubtful once?Of Robert Burns and Alexander.
Alexis, in his early youth,?Began to steal -- from old and young.?Likewise Evander, and the truth?Was like a bad taste on his tongue.?Born thieves and liars, their affair?Seemed only to be tarred with evil --?The most insufferable pair?Of scamps that ever cheered the devil.
The world went on, their fame went on,?And they went on -- from bad to worse;?Till, goaded hot with nothing done,?And each accoutred with a curse,?The friends of Old King Cole, by twos,?And fours, and sevens, and elevens,?Pronounced unalterable views?Of doings that were not of heaven's.
And having learned again whereby?Their baleful zeal had come about,?King Cole met many a wrathful eye?So kindly that its wrath went out --?Or partly out. Say what they would,?He seemed the more to court their candor;?But never told what kind of good?Was in Alexis and Evander.
And Old King Cole, with many a puff?That haloed his urbanity,?Would smoke till he had smoked enough,?And listen most attentively.?He beamed as with an inward light?That had the Lord's assurance in it;?And once a man was there all night,?Expecting something every minute.
But whether from too little thought,?Or too much fealty to the bowl,?A dim reward was all he got?For sitting up with Old King Cole.?"Though mine," the father mused aloud,?"Are not the sons I would have chosen,?Shall I, less evilly endowed,?By their infirmity be frozen?
"They'll have a bad end, I'll agree,?But I was never born to groan;?For I can see what I can see,?And I'm accordingly alone.?With open heart and open door,?I love my friends, I like my neighbors;?But if I try to tell you more,?Your doubts will overmatch my labors.
"This pipe would never make me calm,?This bowl my grief would never drown.?For grief like mine there is no balm?In Gilead, or in Tilbury Town.?And if I see what I can see,?I know not any way to blind it;?Nor more if any way may be?For you to grope or fly to find it.
"There may be room for ruin yet,?And ashes for a wasted love;?Or, like One whom you may forget,?I may have meat you know not of.?And if I'd rather live than weep?Meanwhile, do you find that surprising??Why, bless my soul,