Poem III

It is time that I wrote my will;I choose upstanding men,That climb the streams untilThe fountain leap, and at dawnDrop their cast at the sideOf dripping stone; I declareThey shall inherit my pride,The pride of people that wereBound neither to Cause nor to State,Neither to slaves that were spat on,Nor to the tyrants that spat,The people of Burke and of GrattanThat gave, though free to refuse--Pride, like that of the morn,When the headlong light is loose,Or that of the fabulous horn,Or that of the sudden showerWhen all streams are dry,Or that of the hourWhen the swan must fix his eyeUpon a fading gleam,Float out upon a longLast reach of glittering streamAnd there sing his last song.And I declare my faith;I mock Plotinus’ thoughtAnd cry in Plato’s teeth,Death and life were notTill man made up the whole,Made lock, stock and barrelOut of his bitter soul,Aye, sun and moon and star, all,And further add to thatThat, being dead, we rise,Dream and so createTranslunar Paradise.I have prepared my peaceWith learned Italian thingsAnd the proud stones of Greece,Poet’s imaginingsAnd memories of love,Memories of the words of women,All those things whereofMan makes a superhuman,Mirror-resembling dream.

As at the loophole there,The daws chatter and scream,And drop twigs layer upon layer.When they have mounted up,The mother bird will restOn their hollow top,And so warm her wild nest.

I leave both faith and prideTo young upstanding menClimbing the mountain side,That under bursting dawnThey may drop a fly;Being of that metal madeTill it was broken byThis sedentary trade.

Now shall I make my soulCompelling it to studyIn a learned schoolTill the wreck of bodySlow decay of blood,Testy deliriumOr dull decrepitude,Or what worse evil come--The death of friends, or deathOf every brilliant eyeThat made a catch in the breath--Seem but the clouds of the skyWhen the horizon fades;Or a bird’s sleepy cryAmong the deepening shades.