Youth gave you to me, but I’ll not believe That youth will, taking his quick self, take you. Youth’s all our truth; he cannot so deceive; He has our graces--not our own selves too. He still compares with time when he’ll be spent, By human fate enhancing what we are; Enriches us with dear experiment, Lends arms to leaguered age in Time’s rough war.
Look, this youth in us is an old man taking A boy to make him wiser than his days. So is our old youth our young ages making, So rich in time his final debt he pays. So with your quite young arms do you me hold, And I will still be young when all the world’s grown old.
Love wooing Honour, Honour’s love did win, And had his pleasure all a summer’s day. Not understanding how the dooms begin, Love wooing Honour, wooed her life away. Then wandered he for full five years’ unrest, Until, one night, this Honour that had died Came as he woke, in youth grown glorified, And smiling like the saints whom God has blest.
But when he saw her in the dear night shine Serene, with more than mortal light upon her, The boy that careless was of things divine, Small Love, turned penitent to worship Honour. So Love can conquer Honour; when that’s past, Dead Honour risen outdoes Love at last.
Oh! do not play me music any more, Lest in us mortal, some not mortal spell Should stir strange hopes, and leave a tale to tell Of two belovéd whom holy music bore, Through whispering night and doubt’s uncertain seas, To drift at length along a dawnless shore, The last sad goal of human harmonies. Look! do not play me music any more.
You are my music and my mistress both, Why, then, let music play the master here? Make silent melody, Melodie. I am loath To find that music, large in my soul’s ear, Should stop my fancy, hold my heart in prize, And make me dreamer more than dreams are wise.
Because my faltering feet will fail to dare The downward of the endless steps of Hell, Give me the word in time that triumphs there.
I too must go into the dreadful hollow, Where all our human laughter stops--and hark! The tiny stuffless voices of the dark Have called me, called me till I needs must follow.
Give me the word, and I’ll attempt it well.
Say it’s the little winking of an eye, Which in that issue is uncurtained quite. A little sleep that helps a moment by Between the thin dawn and the large daylight. Oh! tell me more than yet was hoped of men, Swear that’s true now, and I’ll believe it then.