They build it up as in the deep's blue shade
It grows, it comes to light, and then, and thus
For both there is an end. The populous
Sea-blossoms close, our minutes that have paid
Life's debt of work are spent; the work is laid
Before our feet that shall come after us.
We may not stay to watch if it will speed,
The bard if on some luter's string his song
Live sweetly yet; the hero if his star
Doth shine. Work is its own best earthly meed,
Else have we none more than the sea-born throng
Who wrought those marvellous isles that bloom afar.
WISHING.
When I reflect how little I have done,
And add to that how little I have seen,
Then furthermore how little I have won
Of joy, or good, how little known, or been:
I long for other life more full, more keen,
And yearn to change with such as well have run--
Yet reason mocks me--nay, the soul, I ween,
Granted her choice would dare to change with none;
No,--not to feel, as Blondel when his lay
Pierced the strong tower, and Richard answered it--
No,--not to do, as Eustace on the day
He left fair Calais to her weeping lit--
No,--not to be, Columbus, waked from sleep
When his new world rose from the charmed deep.
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