Classic Poem

I.

We know our own true home at last:
The gorgeous dreams of heaven are past:
No angel's harp sounds on the breeze.
Gold wings are gone. We mark instead
White wings above the dahlia bed,
And blue wings o'er the clover leas.

These are our angels — Butterflies,
Blue as the cloudless azure skies,
Or white-winged as the clouds at morn,
Dance o'er the garden-beds, and gleam
Above the hedges. Now we dream
Of other crowns than that of thorn.

This earth is all — Then add new worth
To our one home, our fair old earth:
Love every flower in every vale.
The fancied flowers of heaven were grand.
Yet pause: look round. Stretch out thine hand.
Gather that snowdrop pure and pale.

Was ever heavenly bloom so white —
Did great stars glitter through the night
Of heaven, as on our earth they gleam?
Had heaven a million lamps as we?
Or white birds on a dark-blue sea?
This is the truth. Heaven was the dream.

Heaven was the dream — But now we know
How man is made, where man must go:
We seek no opening to the tomb;
Content to pass, content to be
At rest for all eternity
Within the deep and flameless gloom.

The flameless gloom — for once hell-fire
Roared up to heaven, aye flickered higher
Than heavenly towers that rose sublime.
If heaven we've lost, we've lost as well
The flamelit under-realm of hell:
We cannot either sink, or climb.

The earth is left — We can adorn
Her beauty, — drape with fields of corn
The plains that fill her ample breast.
Now heaven has past, our souls are free
To love the green earth and the sea:
Now hope is dead, we are at rest.

II.

And woman too is left to love:
She brings us dreams of things above
The common daily life she scorns.
Woman makes all things beautiful;
For from the hedge her hand can pull
The blossoming rose, and leave the thorns!

Our angel stands beside us. She
First made man of a certainty
Dream of a life beyond the tomb.
And, now we seek that life no more,
Woman is left us to adore,
And woman's worship to resume.

The force we wasted on the sky
Returns to earth. We put it by;
We store it up for better things.
The noblest angel after all
Is woman: sweeter if she fall
At times, for very want of wings!

Great were Isaiah, Peter, Paul:
Our poets can transcend them all;
And, now they sing of earth alone,
They'll rise to lordlier heights of song.
Yes, man himself shall reach ere long
The steps of the Eternal's throne.

For that eternal force is ours:
It brings forth man, it brings forth flowers
And life and death, in it, are one.
It shines in stars: in man it lives:
Its colour to the rose it gives,
And gives its red flame to the sun.

One force through all things works its way:
Through joy and sorrow, night and day:
Is gentle in the blue-bell's breath:
Is soft within the snow-flake white:
Fierce-hued within the lightning's light:
One power speaks " Life, " or whispers " Death. "

But all beyond is wrapped in gloom.
Nought answers from beyond the tomb:
No starlight travels from that sky.
No eye can pierce the solemn veil:
Each soul exploring comes back pale
From contact with eternity.

III.

Therefore the earth is ours alone:
The sun sits on its flame-red throne;
The stars sit on their thrones in space; —
We have this earth whereon we stand:
We have the thrill in woman's hand:
We have the love in woman's face.

We have the force to win a flower
Of love, and wear it for an hour,
And for an hour to find it sweet.
Aye, sweeter is our love for this —
In that there is no second kiss,
And even the first is over-fleet.

In that to-morrow's frost will slay
The violets, passing sweet are they!
Life is so short. Let it be grand!
Let every deed of man be true:
There is no heaven in which to do
The noble deeds we only planned.

Great peace is ours; a peace beyond
The reach of those who hope, despond,
And snatch at heaven, and shrink from hell;
The peace of those who hope for nought
Save what each long day's toil has brought,
And, hopeless, feel that all is well.