Page:Poems, Alan Seeger, 1916.djvu/115



For there were nights ... my love to him whose brow

Has glistened with the spoils of nights like those,

Home turning as a conqueror turns home,

What time green dawn down every street uprears

Arches of triumph! He has drained as well

Joy's perfumed bowl and cried as I have cried:

Be Fame their mistress whom Love passes by.

This only matters: from some flowery bed,

Laden with sweetness like a homing bee,

If one have known what bliss it is to come,

Bearing on hands and breast and laughing lips

The fragrance of his youth's dear rose. To him

The hills have bared their treasure, the far clouds

Unveiled the vision that o'er summer seas

Drew on his thirsting arms. This last thing known,

He can court danger, laugh at perilous odds,

And, pillowed on a memory so sweet,

Unto oblivious eternity

Without regret yield his victorious soul,

The blessed pilgrim of a vow fulfilled.

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