Page:Collected poems Robinson, Edwin Arlington.djvu/608

 (You haven't so much to say now about that), And in a proper season let him run. You may be dead then, even as you may now Anticipate some other mortal strokes Attending your felicity ; and for that, Oblivion heretofore has done some running Away from graves, and will do more of it." That's how it is your wiser spirit speaks, Rembrandt. If you believe him, why complain ? If not, why paint? And why, in any event, Look back for the old joy and the old roses, Or the old fame? They are all gone together, And Saskia with them; and with her left out, They would avail no more now than one strand Of Samson's hair wound round his little finger Before the temple fell. Nor more are you In any sudden danger to forget That in Apollo's house there are no clocks Or calendars to say for you in time How far you are away from Amsterdam, Or that the one same law that bids you see Where now you see alone forbids in turn Your light from Holland eyes till Holland ears Are told of it ; for that way, my good fellow, Is one way more to death. If at the first Of your long turning, which may still be longer Than even your faith has measured it, you sigh For distant welcome that may not be seen, Or wayside shouting that will not be heard, You may as well accommodate your greatness To the convenience of an easy ditch, And, anchored there with all your widowed gold, Forget your darkness in the dark, and hear No longer the cold wash of Holland scorn.