The Immortal

King and priest and poet met In a garden, arbor set, On a green hill by the sea Where the waves lapped tenderly, Crooning to the restless sands Lullabies of distant lands. From the stately palace near Rippling music smote the ear, Mingled with the solemn bell Of the monks that matins tell ’Neath the censer swinging slow In the ancient church below. Dawn, with rosy fingertips Reached to Day, her lingering lips Pressed upon the dead Night’s brow; As we mortals, too, somehow, Turn us in the past to grope Ere we grasp the hand of Hope.

Spake the king, as wistfully He looked out across the sea Sparkling in the growing light: “Ah! the morning-promise bright! Bright as life, whose morning glow Shadows but to dusk we know! Is it then a little striving, Ending at the last in nothing? Lieth there a fairer day Past Death’s night, O poet, say? Priest, what sayeth your heart’s need, Standing clear of myth and creed?

Said the priest: “Man is the flower Of creation’s natal hour; He earth’s lord--and yet earth’s sorrow Presseth him, till he must borrow Joy from some half-guessed tomorrow-- If his making be not jest; Or a mockery, at best. You who rule and I who pray, Shut from common strife away, Still find in our life’s brief cup Tears and wormwood welling up; Vain would our existence be Without immortality.”

Lightly then the poet laughed As the ruddy wine he quaffed: “What is immortality To the butterfly or bee? Yet life’s sweetest sweets are theirs, Summer suns and summer airs; Skyward still the brown larks climb And the ring doves in the lime Wake the roses with their cooing, Silence into sweetness wooing; And the grass is glad in growing For the white flocks hillward going.

“E’en with gifts of sorrow’s giving There is joy enough in living; Heart-kept joys in every day No ill chance can take away. Truth and beauty are immortal, And if we tomorrow’s portal Should not pass, yet men may say: “He lived kindly yesterday; Sought no evil, thought no ill; So we keep his memory still, As a lamp our feet to guide Till the ebbing of the tide Calls us seaward in the dark.” Look you, brothers, if a spark Of eternal fire be caught In these bodies weakly wrought, Let it flame to noble deeds For our present, human needs-- So from life itself may we Build our immortality.”