To One Who Would Not Spare Himself
A CENSER playing, from a heart all fire,
A flushing, racing, singing mountain stream
Thou art: and dear to us of dull desire In thy far-going dream.
A flushing, racing, singing mountain stream
Thou art: and dear to us of dull desire In thy far-going dream.
Full to the grave be thy too fleeting way,
And full thereafter: few that know thee best
Will grudge it so, for neither thou nor they Can mate thy soul with rest.
And full thereafter: few that know thee best
Will grudge it so, for neither thou nor they Can mate thy soul with rest.
No laws of Time for thee! for thee, His gift
Who moveth never loitering, nor in haste,
Who less may love the flower of ghostly thrift Than some diviner waste.
Who moveth never loitering, nor in haste,
Who less may love the flower of ghostly thrift Than some diviner waste.
O to ride now, in joy, ere thou art gone,
The flame, the torrent, which is one with thee!
Saint, from this pool of dying sweep us on Where Life must long to be.
The flame, the torrent, which is one with thee!
Saint, from this pool of dying sweep us on Where Life must long to be.