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42 Would I have vowed these years, as price to pay

For this dear life in peril far away!

Where the root is, the leafage cometh soon

To clothe an house, and spread its leafy boon

Against the burning star; and, thou being come,

Thou, on the midmost hearthstone of thy home,

Oh, warmth in winter leapeth to thy sign.

And when God's summer melteth into wine

The green grape, on that house shall coolness fall

Where the true man, the master, walks his hall.

Zeus, Zeus! True Master, let my prayers be true!

And, oh, forget not that thou art willed to do!

What is this that evermore,

A cold terror at the door

Of this bosom presage-haunted,

Pale as death hovereth?

While a song unhired, unwanted,

By some inward prophet chanted,

Speaks the secret at its core;

And to cast it from my blood

Like a dream not understood

No sweet-spoken Courage now

Sitteth at my heart's dear prow.

Yet I know that manifold

Days, like sand, have waxen old