EARTH'S IMMORTALITIES. FAME. SEE, as the prettiest graves will do in time, LOVE. So, the year 's done with! Love me for ever!) April's endeavour; June needs must sever; THE LAST RIDE TOGETHER. I. I SAID-Then, dearest, since 't is so, Since all, my life seemed meant for, fails, Since this was written and needs must be My whole heart rises up to bless Your name in pride and thankfulness! Only a memory of the same, -And this beside, if you will not blame, Your leave for one more last ride with me. II. My mistress bent that brow of hers; Those deep dark eyes where pride demurs With life or death in the balance: right! My last thought was at least not vain : I and my mistress, side by side Shall be together, breathe and ride, So, one day more am I deified. Who knows but the world may end to-night? III. Hush! if you saw some western cloud And moon's and evening-star's at once- IV. Then we began to ride. My soul Smoothed itself out, a long-cramped scroll Freshening and fluttering in the wind. Past hopes already lay behind. What need to strive with a life awry? Had I said that, had I done this, V. Fail I alone, in words and deeds? Why, all men strive and who succeeds? We rode; it seemed my spirit flew, Saw other regions, cities new, As the world rushed by on either side. The petty done, the undone vast, This present of theirs with the hopeful past! I hoped she would love me; here we ride. VI. What hand and brain went ever paired? We ride and I see her bosom heave. A soldier's doing! what atones ? They scratch his name on the Abbey-stones. My riding is better, by their leave. VII. What does it all mean, poet? Well, And pace them in rhyme so, side by side. 'T is something, nay 't is much: but then, Have you yourself what 's best for men? Are you-poor, sick, old ere your timeNearer one whit your own sublime Than we who have never turned a rhyme ? VIII. And you, great sculptor-so, you gave You acquiesce, and shall I repine ? "But in music we know how fashions end!" I gave my youth; but we ride, in fine. IX. Who knows what 's fit for us? Had fate Have a bliss to die with, dim-descried. Earth being so good, would heaven seem best? X. And yet she has not spoke so long! |