Page:Songs before sunrise (IA beforesunrisongs00swinrich).pdf/257

 With these it is, with you it is not well; Ye have one hour, but these the immortal years. These for a pang, a breath, a pulse of pain, Have honour, while that honour on earth shall be: Ye for a little sleep and sloth shall gain Scorn, while one man of all men born is free. Even as the depth more deep than night or day, The sovereign heaven that keeps its eldest way, So without chance or change, so without stain, The heaven of their high memories shall nor wax nor wane.

As the soul on the lips of the dead Stands poising her wings for flight, A bird scarce quit of her prison, But fair without form or flesh, So stands over each man's head A splendour of imminent light, A glory of fame rearisen, Of day rearisen afresh From the hells of night.

In the hundred cities of Crete Such glory was not of old, Though her name was great upon earth And her face was fair on the sea.