Classic Poem

I.

Death! Still thou art the same. We know thee well,
And yet we know thee not. — The son to thee
Gives up his grey-haired mother, and the sea
Yields up its lords; the green stalk yields its bell.
The first-born rose at night's first footstep fell,
And last night's deaths solved not the mystery: —
We know not what behind the veil may be —
Limitless heaven, or unimagined hell!

Thou art not changed. While love and passion veer
Like storm-beat ships, and all the ways of man
Waver, thou dost one changeless straight course steer:
Tight on the tiller are thy fingers wan:
Thy lips have never lost that mocking sneer
With which their cruel cursed work began.\

II.

Thou hast not changed since far-off Rachel wept
For her first-born. A million mothers more
Have wailed as through their hearts thine arrow tore
And their hearts' darlings on a sudden slept.
O'er countless battle-fields thy foot has leapt,
Splashing exhilarate mid the dull red gore: —
Thine ears have bent to hear their hollow roar,
When over choking ships thy waves' lips crept.

Thou art the same. And, long ere history spoke, —
Ages ere e'en papyrus-leaves preserved
The deeds of man, — thou wast as cruel; thou
Watching the ruin wrought by thy sword-stroke
In some dim heart and tawny body curved
Over her dead in lands the sea holds now.