Methought the unknown God we seek in vain Grew weary of the evil He had wrought—The piteous litanies of human pain— Till here and there some lonely souls He sought To bear the message of Immortal Thought,
And sent them forth to wander ’midst the
Crowned with the splendour and the curse of Song.
But that which still was kindred to the stars Fought with the flesh and moaned within its cell,
And beat its wings against its prison bars. Thus, soaring oft to heights sublime, they fell, Dragged by the flesh into the gulfs of hell;
Till all their days were as a tumult
Between the splendour and the curse of Song.
Yet often ’mid the fever of distress Some singer’s lips would chant so sweet a
That storm-tossed souls forgot their weariness, And comfort crept about the bed of pain, And men took heart and dreamt of heaven again;
And to the weak came hope and courage
Born of the beauty and the balm of Song.
But Life was bitter to the lips that sung; And heavier on those souls the curse did
Who strove to speak to men an unknown tongue, And mournfully their hearts did weigh and know The measure of the whole world’s cruel woe,
And wearily they fared Time’s path
Vexed by the splendour and the curse of Song.
Theirs was the homeless hunger of the heart— Immortal thought within a mortal breast,
Listless they wandered through the crowded mart, Who to a careless world had given their best; And when Death lulled them with his wings to
What reeked they where they slumbered calm and
Crowned with the splendour of Immortal Song?
