The Robe of Grass

HERE lies the woven garb he wore Of grass he gathered by the shore
 * Whereon the phantom waves still fret and foam

And sigh along the visionary sand. "Where is he now?" you cry. "What desolate land
 * Gleams round him in dull mockery of home?"

You knew him by the robe he cast About him, grey and worn at last.
 * "It fades," you murmur, "changes, lives and dies.

Why has he vanished? Whither is he fled? And is there any light among the dead?
 * Can any dream come singing where he lies?"

Ah peace! lift up your clouded eyes, Nor where this curious relic lies
 * Grope in the blown dust for the print of feet.

Dim, twittering, ghastly sounds are these; but he Laughs now as ever, still aloof and free,
 * Eager and wild and passionate and fleet.

Because he has dropped the part he played, Shall love be baffled and dismayed?
 * Let the frail earth and all its visions melt,

And let the heart that loves, the eye that sees, Seek him amid immortal mysteries,
 * For lo, he dwells where he has ever dwelt.