  It is useless, good woman, useless: the spark fails me. God! yet when the might of it all assails me It seems impossible that I cannot do it. Yet I cannot. They were right, and they all knew it Years ago, but I—never! I have persisted Blindly (they say) and now I am old. I have resisted Everything, but now, now the strife's ended. The fire's out; the old cloak has been mended For the last time, the soul peers through its tatters. Put a light by and leave me; nothing more matters Now; I am done; I am at last well broken! Yet, by God, I'll still leave them a token That they'll swear it was no dead man writ it; A morsel that they'll mark well the day they bit it, When goodman Gabriel blows his concluding trumpet. Leave me! And now, little black eyes, come you out here! Ah, you've given me a lively, lasting bout, year After year to win you round me darlings! Precious children, little gambollers! "farlings" They might have called you once, "nearlings" I call you now, I, first of all the yearlings, Upon this plain, for I it was that tore you Out of chaos! It was I bore you! Ah, you little children that go playing Over the five-barred gate, and will still be straying Spite of all that I have ever told you Of counterpoint and cadence which does not hold you— No more than chains will for this or that strange reason, But you're always at some new loving treason To be away from me, laughing, mocking, Witlessly, perhaps, but for all that forever knocking At this stanchion door of your poor father's heart till—oh, well At least you've shown that you can grow well However much you evade me faster, faster. For he will come! He shall, he must come! And when he finishes and the burning dust from His wheels settles—what shall men see then? You, you, you, my own lovely children! Aye, all of you, thus with hands together Playing on the hill or there in a tether, Or running free, but all mine! Aye, my very namesakes Shall be his proper fame's stakes. And he shall lead you! And he shall meed you! And he shall build you gold palaces! And he shall wine you from clear chalices! For I have seen it! I have seen it Written where the world-clouds screen it From other eyes Over the bronze gates of paradise! |
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