Uplooking want I still retain, darken the leaves I touch Pale promise, with sad sweetness Solemnizing incompleteness, But ah, you knew so little then-and now you know so much! By the vision cherish'd By the dark hope bravéd, Have you, in heaven, shamed the song, by a loftier music, David? 13. I, who loved and knew you, In the city that slew you, Still hunger on, and thirst, and climb, proud-hearted and alone. Serpent-fears enfold me, Syren-visions hold me, And, like a wave, I gather strength, and gathering strength, I moan; Ay, the pale moon beckons, Still I follow, aching, And gather strength, only to make a louder moan, in breaking! 14. Tho' the world could turn from you, This, at least, I learn from you: Beauty and Truth, tho' never found, are worthy to be sought, The singer, upward-springing, Is grander than his singing, And tranquil self-sufficing joy illumes the dark of thought. This, at least, you teach me, In a revelation : That gods still snatch, as worthy death, the soul in its aspiration. 15. And I think, as you thought, Poesy and Truth ought Never to lie silent in the singer's heart on earth ; Slighted, unrewarded, Tho', unto vulgar seeming, they appear of little worth,— Yet tender brother-singers, Young or not yet born to us, May seek there, for the singer's sake, that love which sweeteneth scorn to us! 16. While I sit in silence, Comes from mile on mile hence, From English Keats's Roman grave, a voice that sweetens toil! Think you, no fond creatures Drew comfort from the features Of Chatterton, pale Phäethon, hurled down to sunless soil, Scorch'd with sunlight lying, Eyes of sunlight hollow, But, see! upon the lips a gleam of the chrism of Apollo ! 17. Noble thought produces Noble ends and uses, Noble hopes are part of Hope wherever she may be, Noble thought enhances Life and all its chances, And noble self is noble song,-all this I learn from thee! And I learn, moreover, Mid the city's strife too, That such pure song as sweetens Death can sweeten the singer's life too! 18. Lo, my Book!--I hold it In weary hands, and fold it Unto my heart, if only as a token I aspire; And, by song's assistance, Unto your dim distance, My soul uplifted is on wings, and beckon'd higher, nigher. By the higher wisdom You return unspeaking, Though endless, hopeless, be the search, we exalt our souls in seeking. |