Page:New poems and variant readings, Stevenson, 1918.djvu/60

40 Ye have the power, if but ye had the will,

Strong-smitten steady chords in sequence grand,

To bear me forth into that tranquil land

Where good is no more ravelled up with ill;

Where she and I, remote upon some hill

Or by some quiet river's windless strand,

May live, and love, and wander hand in hand,

And follow nature simply, and be still.

From this grim world, where, sadly, prisoned, we

Sit bound with others' heart-strings as with chains,

And, if one moves, all suffer,—to that Goal,

If such a land, if such a sphere, there be,

Thither, from life and all life's joys and pains,

O even wings of music, bear my soul!

FEAR NOT, DEAR FRIEND, BUT FREELY LIVE YOUR DAYS

not, dear friend, but freely live your days

Though lesser lives should suffer. Such am I,

A lesser life, that what is his of sky

Gladly would give for you, and what of praise.

Step, without trouble, down the sunlit ways.

We that have touched your raiment, are made whole

From all the selfish cankers of man's soul,