I

   Breathe not, hid Heart: cease silently,

   And though thy birth-hour beckons thee,

      Sleep the long sleep:

      The Doomsters heap

   Travails and teens around us here,

And Time-wraiths turn our songsingings to fear.

II

   Hark, how the peoples surge and sigh,

   And laughters fail, and greetings die:

      Hopes dwindle; yea,

      Faiths waste away,

   Affections and enthusiasms numb;

Thou canst not mend these things if thou dost come.

III

   Had I the ear of wombèd souls

   Ere their terrestrial chart unrolls,

      And thou wert free

      To cease, or be,

   Then would I tell thee all I know,

And put it to thee: Wilt thou take Life so?

IV

   Vain vow!  No hint of mine may hence

   To theeward fly: to thy locked sense

      Explain none can

      Life’s pending plan:

   Thou wilt thy ignorant entry make

Though skies spout fire and blood and nations quake.

V

   Fain would I, dear, find some shut plot

   Of earth’s wide wold for thee, where not

      One tear, one qualm,

      Should break the calm.

   But I am weak as thou and bare;

No man can change the common lot to rare.

VI

   Must come and bide.  And such are we—

   Unreasoning, sanguine, visionary—

      That I can hope

      Health, love, friends, scope

   In full for thee; can dream thou’lt find

Joys seldom yet attained by humankind!