  Last night I slipt from the banks of dream And swam in the currents of God, On a tide where His fairies were at play, Catching salt tears in their little white hands, For human hearts; And dancing dancing, in gala bands, On the currents of God; And singing, singing:— There is no wind blows here or spray— Wind upon us! Only the waters ripple away Under our feet as we gather tears. God has made mortals for the years, Us for alway! God has made mortals full of fears, If they would free them from grief that sears, If they would keep all that love endears, If they would lay no more lilies on biers— Let them say! For we are swift to enchant and tire Time's will! Our feet are wiser than all desire, Our song is better than faith or fame; To whom it is given no ill e'er came, Who has it not grows chill! Who has it not grows laggard and lame, Nor knows that the world is a Minstrel's lyre, Smitten and never still!... Last night on the currents of God. |
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