Ah me! I mind me long agone, Once on a savage snow-bound height We pigmies pierced a king. Upon His bare and upreared breast till night We rained red arrows and we rained Hot lead. Then up the steep and slow He passed; yet ever still disdained To strike, or even look below. We found him, high above the clouds next morn And dead, in all his silent, splendid scorn. So leave me, as the edge of night Comes on, a little time to pass, Or pray. For steep the stony height And torn by storm, and bare of grass Or blossom. And when I lie dead Oh, do not drag me down once more. For Jesus' sake let my poor head Lie pillowed with these stones. My store Of wealth is these. I earned them. Let me keep Still on alone, on mine own star-lit steep. |