XIII
Ye who bear on the torch of living art
In this new world, saved for some wondrous fate,
Deem not that ye have come, alas, too late,
But haste right forward with unfailing heart!
Ye shall not rest forlorn;
Behold, even now, the morn
Rises in splendor from the orient sea,
And the new world shall greet a new divinity.
XIV
Shall greet, ah, who can say! a nobler face
Than from the foam of Cytherean seas:
Loveliness lovelier; mightier harmonies
Of song and color; an intenser grace;
Beauty that shall endure
Like Charis, heavenly-pure;
A Spirit solemn as the starry night,
And full as the triumphant dawn of golden light.
AFTER-SONG
TO ROSAMOND
Rose of the world,
Bloom of the year,
Birth of the dawn!
By morn's one star
Lighted to life!—
Thou and my songs
Come to the day
Hand claspt in hand.
