| |
| I SAT by the granite pillar, and sunlight fell | |
| Where the sunlight fell of old, | |
| And the hour was the hour my heart remember’d well, | |
| And the sermon roll’d and roll’d | |
| As it used to roll when the place was still unhaunted, | 5 |
| And the strangest tale in the world was still untold. | |
| |
| And I knew that of all this rushing of urgent sound | |
| That I so clearly heard, | |
| The green young forest of saplings cluster’d round | |
| Was heeding not one word: | 10 |
| Their heads were bow’d in a still serried patience | |
| Such as an angel’s breath could never have stirr’d. | |
| |
| For some were already away to the hazardous pitch, | |
| Or lining the parapet wall, | |
| And some were in glorious battle, or great and rich, | 15 |
| Or throned in a college hall: | |
| And among the rest was one like my own young phantom, | |
| Dreaming for ever beyond my utmost call. | |
| |
| ‘O Youth,’ the preacher was crying, ‘deem not thou | |
| Thy life is thine alone; | 20 |
| Thou bearest the will of the ages, seeing how | |
| They built thee bone by bone, | |
| And within thy blood the Great Age sleeps sepulchred | |
| Till thou and thine shall roll away the stone. | |
| |
| ‘Therefore the days are coming when thou shalt burn | 25 |
| With passion whitely hot; | |
| Rest shall be rest no more; thy feet shall spurn | |
| All that thy hand hath got; | |
| And One that is stronger shall gird thee, and lead thee swiftly | |
| Whither, O heart of Youth, thou wouldest not.’ | 30 |
| |
| And the School pass’d; and I saw the living and dead | |
| Set in their seats again, | |
| And I long’d to hear them speak of the word that was said, | |
| But I knew that I long’d in vain. | |
| And they stretch’d forth their hands, and the wind of the spirit took them | 35 |
| Lightly as drifted leaves on an endless plain. | |
| |
