REALMS OF GOLD.

Dominion, Volume 1, Issue 51, 23 November 1907, Page 13

REALMS OF GOLD.

There is an end of joy and sorrow; l'caco oil duv long, all night, all morrow, But never a time'to laugh or weep. ; The end is come of pleasant places, • The end of tender words and faces, Tho cud of all, tho poppied sleep.

No place for sound within their hearing, No room to hope, no time for fearing, No lips to laugh, no lids for tearß. The old years have run out all their measure; No chance of pain, no clianco of pleasure, . No fragment of tho broken years. \ Outside of all the worlds naid ages, _ There whore tho fool is as the sage is, Thero where the slayer is clean of blood, No end, no passage, no beginning. There where the sinner leaves off sinning, Thcro where tho good man is not good. There is not ono thing with another, But Evil saithto Good: My brother, My brother, I am one with theo; They shall not strive nor cry for ever: No man shall choose between them; never Shall this thing end' and that thing bo. Wind wherein seas and stars are shaken Shall shake them, and they'shall not waken; None, that has lain down shall arise; The stones are sealed across their places: Ono shadow is shed on all their faces, Ono blindness cast on all their oyes. Sleep, is it sleep perchance that covers Each face, as each face were his lover's? ' Farewell; as men that sleep fare well. The grave's month laughs unto derision Desire and dread and dream and vision, Delight of heaven and sorrow of hell. No-soul shall tell nor lip shall number Tho names and tribes of you that slumber; No memory, no memorial. "Thou knowest"—who shall say thou knowest? Thore is none highest and none lowest; An end, an end, an end of all. Good night, good sleep, good rest from sorrow To these that shall not have good morrow; . Tho gods be gcntlo to all these. Nay, if death bo not, how shall they be? Nay, is. there help in heaven? It may bo All things and. lords of things shall ccaso. The stooped urn, filling, dips and flashes; The bronzed brims are deep in, nshes; The palo old lips of death are fed. ' Shall this dust gather flesh hereafter? Shall one shed tears or fall to laughter, At sight of all these poor old dead?. Nay, as thou wilt; these know not of it; Thine eyes' strong .weeping shall not profit, Thy r laughter shall not give thee case; Cry aloud, spare not, cease not crying, . Sigh, till thou cleave thy sides with sighing, Thou shalt not raise up ono of these. Burnt spices .flash, and burnt wino hisses, The breathing flames mouth curls and kisses Tho small dried row of frankincense; All round the sad red blossoms smoulder, Flowers coloured like the fire, but colder, In sign of sweet things taken hence. Tea, for their sake and in death's favour Things of sweet shape and of sweot savour Wo yield them, 6pice and flower and wine; Tea, costlier things than wines 'and spices, Whereof hone knoweth how great the prico is, And fruit that comes not of tho vino.

From boy's pierced throat, and girl's pierced bosohi , Drips, reddening round the blood-red blossom; Tho slow, delicious, bright, soft blood, Bathing the spices and the pyre, Bathing the'flowers and fallon fire, Bathing, tho blossom by tho bud.

Roses whose lips the flame has deadened Drink till the lapping leaves are reddened And warm wet inner potals weep; Tho flower whereof sick sleep gets leisure, Barron of balm, and purple pleasure, Fumes.which hnvo no native steam ol ■,■■'■ sleep.

Why will ye weep? , What do ye weeping? . For' waking folk and people sleeping, And sands that fill and sands that fall, The dnv's rose red, the poppied hours. Blood, wine, and spice and fire and flowers, ' There is one end of ono and all. Shall such a one lend, love or borrow? Shall'these be sorry for thy sorrow? \ Shall these givo thanks for words oi breath? '/. v Their hate is as their loving-kindness; The frontlet of their brows is blindness, The armlet of their arms is death.

Lo, for no noiso or light of thunder Shall these grave clothes he rent in sunder I Ho that hath* taken, shall ho give? He hath rent them: shall ho bind together? Ho hath bound them: shull he break the tether? He hath slain them: shall he bid them live? A little sorrow, a 'little pleasure, , Fate metes us from the dusty mcasuro That holds the date of all of us; Wo were born with travail and strong crying, And from the birth-day to the dying The likeness of our life is thus. One girds himself to serve another, Whoso father was the dust, whoso mother The little dead red worm therein; They find no fault of things they cherish; The goodness of a man shall perish, • It shall be one thing with his sin. In deep wet days by grey old gardenß Fed with sharp spring the sweet fruit hardons; They know not what fruits wane or grow; Red summer burns to the utmost ember; They know not, neither can remember, The 'old years and flowers they used to know. . Ah, for their sakes, so trapped and taken, For theirs, forgotten and forsaken, ' Watch, sleep not, gird thyself with prayer. Nay, where the heart of wrath is broken, Where long love ends as a tiling spoken, How shall thy crying onter thero? Though the iron sides of the old world falter, Tho likeness of them shall not alter ' For all tho rumour of periods, Tho stars and seasons that come after, The tears of latter men, tho laughter Of tho old unalterablo gods. Far up, above tho years and nations, Tho high gods, clothed and crowned with patience, Enduro through days of deathlike date; They bear the witness of things hidden; Before their eyes all life stands chidden, As they before tho eyes of Fate. Not for their love shall Fate retire, Nor they relent for our desiro, Nor the graves open for their call. The end is more than joy and anguish, That lives that laugh, and lives that-languish, The poppied sleep, the end of all. —Swinburne.