In silence I wait
For his voice to roll,
For the coming of Fate,
The strength of my soul.
My words create
One glorious whole
From the fragments divided that seem past a man’s or
a god's control.
I, seeing the life
Of the flowers renew,
The victorious strife
Of the spring run through,
The child’s birth rife
With loftier dew—
I know the deep truth in myself ; see acacia in cypress
and yew.
Death is not at all!
’Tis a mask or a dream!
The things that befall
Only slumber or seem !
They fear; they appal—
They are not as ye deem!
Death died when I dipped my lyre in the sweet Heli-
conian stream!
Give praise to your lord,
All souls that draw breath,
All flowers of the sward!
For the song of me saith:
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