192
A VISION OF POETS.
A rain of dew, till, wetted so,
The child who held the branch let go,
And it swang backward with a flow
The child who held the branch let go,
And it swang backward with a flow
Of faster drippings. Then I knew
The children laughed—but the laugh flew
From its own chirrup, as might do
The children laughed—but the laugh flew
From its own chirrup, as might do
A frightened song-bird; and a child
Who seemed the chief, said very mild,
"Hush! keep this morning undefiled."
Who seemed the chief, said very mild,
"Hush! keep this morning undefiled."
His eyes rebuked them from calm spheres;
His soul upon his brow appears
In waiting for more holy years.
His soul upon his brow appears
In waiting for more holy years.
I called the child to me, and said,
"What are your palms for?"—"To be spread,"
He answered, "on a poet dead.
"What are your palms for?"—"To be spread,"
He answered, "on a poet dead.
"The poet died last month; and now
The world, which had been somewhat slow
In honouring his living brow,
The world, which had been somewhat slow
In honouring his living brow,
"Commands the palms—They must be strown
On his new marble very soon,
In a procession of the town."
On his new marble very soon,
In a procession of the town."
I sighed and said, "Did he foresee
Any such honour?" "Verily
I cannot tell you," answered he.
Any such honour?" "Verily
I cannot tell you," answered he.
"But this I know,—I fain would lay
Mine own head down, another day,
As he did,—with the fame away.
Mine own head down, another day,
As he did,—with the fame away.
"A lily, a friend's hand had plucked,
Lay by his death-bed, which he looked
As deep down as a bee had sucked;
Lay by his death-bed, which he looked
As deep down as a bee had sucked;
"Then, turning to the lattice, gazed
O'er hill and river, and upraised.
His eyes illumined and amazed
O'er hill and river, and upraised.
His eyes illumined and amazed
