Unmarked, a Glory

I HEARD two youths make moan, and say
Each his wish, upon a day.
Stood the first beside his plough :
Angrily he wiped his brow,
And, “ Ah ! ” he cried, “ that I might be
What else I might, so I were free
To live my life, and cast behind
These mindless tasks that cramp the mind,
These shackles of the commonplace
That crush out all life’s finer grace!

” The second lifted up his head,
Heavy with toil, and sadly said :
“ Would I might leave the town for aye!
Surely, beneath the open day,
Among the hills, I should not pine
That naught worth having might be mine ;
That all that life to me could give
Was to make ready still to live ! ”
Then saw I how about them lay,
Unmarked, a glory, all the day.
The one scarce looked beyond his plough,
Although it seamed a mountain’s brow,
And half the world, below, outspread
Its mystic meanings, all unread !
The other let mankind go by,
Nor dreamed the things he sought were nigh ;
He saw a thousand faces shine,
With eyes that knew not the divine;
And walked the streets where life was lived,
Longing for life — and hopeless grieved !