Three Days
I
What shall I bring to lay upon thy bier
O Yesterday! thou day forever dead?
With what strange garlands shall I crown thy head,
Thou silent One? For rose and rue are near
Which thou thyself didst bring me; heart’s-ease clear
And dark in purple opulence that shed
Rare odors round; wormwood, and herbs that fed
My soul with bitterness—they all are here!
When to the banquet I was called by thee
Thou gavest me rags and royal robes to wear;
Honey and aloes mingled in the cup
Of costly wine that thou didst pour for me;
Thy throne, thy footstool, thou didst bid me share;
On crusts and heavenly manna bade me sup!
II
Thou art no dreamer, O thou stern To-day!
The dead past had its dreams; the real is thine.
An armored knight, in panoply divine,
It is not thine to loiter by the way,
Though all the meads with summer flowers be gay,
Though birds sing for thee, and though fair stars shine,
And every god pours for thee life’s best wine!
Nor friend nor foe hath strength to bid thee stay.
Gleaming beneath thy brows with smouldering fire
Thine eyes look out upon the eternal hills
As forth thou ridest with thy spear in rest.
From the far heights a voice cries, “Come up higher!”
And in swift answer all thy being thrills,
When lo! ’tis night—thy sun is in the west!
III
But thou, To-morrow! never yet was born
In earth’s dull atmosphere a thing so fair—
Never yet tripped, with footsteps light as air,
So glad a vision o’er the hills of morn!
Fresh as the radiant dawning—all unworn
By lightest touch of sorrow, or of care,
Thou dost the glory of the morning share
By snowy wings of hope and faith upborne!
O fair To-morrow! what our souls have missed
Art thou not keeping for us, somewhere, still?
The buds of promise that have never blown—
The tender lips that we have never kissed—
The song whose high, sweet strain eludes our skill—
The one white pearl that life hath never known!