The Song of the Happy Shepherd
THE woods of Arcady are dead,
And over is their antique joy;
Of old the world on dreaming fed;
Grey Truth is now her paioy;
Yet still she turns her restless head:
But O, sick children of the world,
Of all the many ging things
In dreary dang past us whirled,
To the cracked tuhat os sings,
Words alone are certain good.
Where are now the warring kings,
Word be-mockers? - By the Rood,
Where are now the watring kings?
An idle word is now their glory,
By the stammering schoolboy said,
Reading some entaory:
The kings of the old time are dead;
The wanderih herself may be
Only a sudden flaming word,
In ging space a moment heard,
Troubling the endless reverie.
Then nowise worship dusty deeds,
Nor seek, for this is also sooth,
To hunger fiercely after truth,
Lest all thy toiling only breeds
New dreams, new dreams; there is no truth
Saving in thine ow. Seek, then,
No learning from the starry men,
Who follow with the optic glass
The whirling ways of stars that pass -
Seek, then, for this is also sooth,
No word of theirs - the cold star-bane
Has cloven aheir hearts in twain,
And dead is all their human truth.
Go gather by the humming sea
Some twisted, echo-harb shell.
And to its lips thy story tell,
And they thy forters will be.
Rew in melodious guile
Thy fretful words a little while,
Till they shall singing fade in ruth
And die a pearly brotherhood;
For words alone are certain good:
Sing, then, for this is also sooth.
I must be gohere is a grave
Where daffodil and lily wave,
And I would please the hapless faun,
Buried uhe sleepy ground,
With mirthful songs before the dawn.
His shouting days with mirth were ed;
And still I dream he treads the lawn,
Walking ghostly in the dew,
Pierced by my glad singing through,
My songs of old earths dreamy youth:
But ah! she dreams not now; dream thou!
For fair are poppies on the brow:
Dream, dream, for this is also sooth.