Page:Captain Craig; a book of poems.djvu/21

Rh And waited on the rock above the stream, Just like a kingfisher. He might have dived, Or jumped, or he might not; but anyhow, There came along a man who looked at him With such an unexpected friendliness, And talked with him in such a common way, That life grew marvelously different: What he had lately known for sullen trunks And branches, and a world of tedious leaves, Was all transmuted; a faint forest wind That once had made the loneliest of all Sad sounds on earth, made now the rarest music; And the water that had called him once to death Now seemed a flowing glory. And that man, Born to go down a soldier, did this thing.— Not much to do? Not very much, I grant you: Good occupation for a sonneteer, Or for a clown, or for a clergyman, But small work for a soldier. By the way, When you are weary sometimes of your own Utility, I wonder if you find Occasional great comfort pondering What power a man has in him to put forth? ’Of all the many marvelous things that are, Nothing is there more marvelous than man,' Said Sophocles; and he lived long ago; ’And earth, unending ancient of the gods