Does the dust return to dust? Does the soul fly to heaven? Or is all vile matter, Rottenness, filthiness? I know not, but There is something--something-- Something which gives me Loathing, terror, To leave the dead So alone, so wretched.
They cut my face, there’s blood upon my brow. So, let it run, I am an old man now, An old, blind beggar picking filth for bread. Once I wore silk, drank wine, Spent gold on women, feasted, all was mine; But this uneasy current in my head Burst, one full moon, and cleansed me, then I saw Truth like a perfect crystal, life its flaw, I told the world, but I was mad, they said.
I had a valley farm above a brook, My sheep bells there were sweet, And in the summer heat My mill wheels turned, yet all these things they took; Ah, and I gave them, all things I forsook But that green blade of wheat, My own soul’s courage, that they did not take. I will go on, although my old heart ache. Not long, not long. Soon I shall pass behind This changing veil to that which does not change, My tired feet will range In some green valley of eternal mind Where Truth is daily like the water’s song.
The wild-duck, stringing through the sky, Are south away. Their green necks glitter as they fly, The lake is gray, So still, so lone, the fowler never heeds. The wind goes rustle, rustle, through the reeds.
There they find peace to have their own wild souls. In that still lake, Only the moonrise or the wind controls The way they take, Through the gray reeds, the cocking moorhen’s lair, Rippling the pool, or over leagues of air.
Not thus, not thus are the wild souls of men. No peace for those Who step beyond the blindness of the pen To where the skies unclose. For them the spitting mob, the cross, the crown of thorns, The bull gone mad, the saviour on his horns.
Beauty and Peace have made No peace, no still retreat, No solace, none. Only the unafraid Before life’s roaring street Touch Beauty’s feet, Know Truth, do as God bade, Become God’s son. [_Pause._]
Darkness come down, cover a brave man’s pain. Let the bright soul go back to God again. Cover that tortured flesh, it only serves To hold that thing which other power nerves. Darkness, come down, let it be midnight here, In the dark night the untroubled soul sings clear.