MANY men no doubt must die below-decks Where the heavy oars of the ship are plying; Others dwell above beside the tiller Know the flight of birds and the lore of star-lands. Many with weighted limbs must lie forever At the roots of the labyrinthine life-tree; Others have their place appointed With the sibyls, the queens of vision, Where they bide as in seats accustomed, Head untroubled and hand unburdened. Yet from yonder lives a shadow falleth On the happier lives of the others, And the light unto the heavy As to air and earth are fettered: From the weariness of forgotten peoples Vainly would I liberate mine eyelids, Or would keep my startled soul at distance From the silent fall of far-off planets. Many fates with mine are interwoven, Subtly mingled flow the threads of being, And my share in it is more than merely One life's narrow flame or thin-toned lyre. |