Classic Poem

I. D REAM

When I have done with unimmortal things
And dwell in heaven's gardens, blithe and free,
They will be kind to lesser ones like me, —
Whose souls, even while on Earth were brave with wings,
What if great Homer finds my gate and sings
The music of his loud-resounding sea?
And what if Michelangelo should be
Ready to paint his rare imaginings
Upon my mansion's wall?
Hid from the street
I think that on my lawn a beechen dial
Will mark all hours, carved there by Rodin's knife;
And Brahms will deign to play with me the suite
Composed by Papa Franck for my dear viol
Of mellow wood cut from the tree of life.

II. Earth AND H EAVEN

When dawns for us the bright, eternal day,
Shall we reject these lovely arts of Earth
And mock at them as broken toys whose worth
Passes with the brief hour of children's play?
Shall poets' domes and towers melt away
To the mean compass of a hovel's girth? —
The painted walls of Florence move our mirth
Like pavement daubs fouled by a passing dray?
No! Shakespeare's holy bread was fraught with leaven
Sublime on Earth, — sublime in the high heaven.
There Vinci's brush will stir us still like wine,
The vault of Rheims vibrate within our veins,
And Bach's deep voice make heaven the more divine.
God's fire shall warm the soul where'er He reigns.

III. S EAWARD

For ever soiled and yet for ever pure,
It draws into its depths, without a stain,
Whatever the polluted land can drain
From compost-heap and charnel ground and sewer.
Earth generates no filth that may endure
When plunged within the exuberant, bright main.
So round man's foulness and his festering pain
Lies fathomless the peace God shall assure
When Earth is shrivelled like a crumbling pod.
Upon man's coast thunders divinity.
That shall the soiled soul utterly purify
So it may pass the rapturous gate of God.
Death is a plunge within that stainless sea;
Nor may man wholly live except he die.