A Dream of Youth

With faces bright, as ruddy corn,Touched by the sunlight of the morn;With rippling hair; and gleaming eyes,Wherein a sea of passion lies;Hair waving back, and eyes that gleamWith deep delight of dream on dream;With full lips, curving into song;With shapely limbs, upright and strong:The youths on holy service throng.

Vested in white, upon their browsAre wreaths fresh twined from dewy boughsAnd flowers they strow along the way,Still dewy from the birth of day.So, to each reverend altar come,They stand in adoration: someSwing up gold censers; till the airIs blue and sweet, with smoke of rareSpices, that fetched from Egypt were.

In voices of calm, choral tone,Praise they each God, with praise his own:As children of the Gods, is seenTheir glad solemnity of mien:So fair a spirit of the skiesIs in their going: and their eyesLook out upon the peopled earth,As theirs were some diviner birth:And clear and courtly is their mirth.

Lights of the labouring world, they seem:Or, to the tired, like some fresh stream.Their dignity of perfect youthCompels devotion, as doth truth:So right seems all, they do, they are.Old age looks wistful, from afar,To watch their beauty, as they go,Radiant and free, in ordered row;And fairer, in the watching, grow.

Fair though it be, to watch uncloseThe nestling glories of a rose,Depth on rich depth, soft fold on fold:Though fairer be it, to beholdStately and sceptral lilies breakTo beauty, and to sweetness wake:Yet fairer still, to see and sing,One fair thing is, one matchless thing:Youth, in its perfect blossoming.

The magic of a golden graceBrings fire and sweetness on each face:Till, from their passage, every heartTakes fire, and sweetness in the smart:Till virtue lives, for all who ownTheir majesty, in them alone:Till careless hearts, and idle, takeDelight in living, for their sake;Worship their footsteps, and awake.

Beside the tremulous, blue sea,Clear at sunset, they love to be:And they are rarely sad, but then.For sorrow touches them, as men,Looking upon the calm of things,That pass, and wake rememberingsOf holy and of ancient awe;The charm of immemorial Law:What we see now, the great dead saw!

Upon a morn of storm, a swan,Breasting the cold stream, cold and wan,Throws back his neck in snowy lengthBetween his snowy wings of strength:Against him the swift river flows,The proudlier he against it goes,King of the waters! For his prideBears him upon a mightier tide:May death not be by youth defied?

But the red sun is gone: and gleamsOf delicate moonlight waken dreams,Dreams, and the mysteries of peace:Shall this fair darkness ever cease?Here is no drear, no fearful Power,But life grows fuller with each hour,Full of the silence, that is best:Earth lies, with soothed and quiet breast,Beneath the guardian stars, at rest.

At night, behold them! Where lights burnBy moonlit olives, see them turnFull faces toward the sailing moon,Nigh lovelier than beneath high noon!Throw back their comely moulded throats,Whence music on the night wind floats!And through the fragrant hush of nightTheir lustrous eyes make darkness bright:Their laugh loads darkness with delight.

Almost the murmuring sea is still:Almost the world obeys their will.Such youth moves pity in stern Fates,And sure death wellnigh dominates:Their passion kindles such fair flame,As from divine Achilles came:A vehement ardour thrills their breasts,And beauty's benediction restsOn earth, and on earth's goodliest guests.

The music of their sighing partsA silence: and their beating heartsBeat to a measure of despair:Ah! how the fire of youth is fair?Yet may not be for ever young!But night hath yielded; there hath sprungMorning upon the throne of night:Day comes, with solemnizing light:Consuming sorrows take to flight.

Magnificent in early bloom,Like Gods, they triumph over gloom:All things desirable are theirs,Of beauty and of wonder, heirs:Their cities, vassals are, which giveThem thanks and praise, because they live:Strong, they are victors of dismay;Fair, they serve beauty every day;Young, the sun loves to light their way.

Where now is death? Where that gray land?Those fearless eyes, those white brows grand,That take full sunlight and sweet airWith rapture true and debonair,These have not known the touch of death!The world hath winds: these forms have breath,But, should death come, should dear life set,Calm would each go: Farewell! forgetMe dead: live you serenely yet.

See them! The springing of the palmIs nought, beside their gracious calm:The rippling of cool waters diesTo nought, before their clear replies:The smile, that heralds their bright thought,Brings down the splendid sun to nought.See them! They walk the earth in state:In right of perfect youth, held great:On whom the powers of nature wait.

No sceptre theirs, but they are kings:Their forms and words are royal things.Their simple friendship is a court,Whither the wise and great resort.No homage of the world, they claim:But in all places lives their fame.Sun, moon, and stars; the earth, the sea;Yea! all things, that of beauty be,Honour their true divinity.