I moved upon the waters ere the world was born;
I saw her bridal lamps, pale stars, lit one by one;
I stript her misty kirtle on that first glittering dawn
Which left the earth a virgin bare bosomed to the sun -
But long ere those primeval days my travail had begun.
And none may share the visions that arise before my eyes,
And none may share the memories that smoulder in my heart,
As I tread slowly shepherding across the pastured skies
My lagging flocks of fleecy clouds to some fur fold apart -
Or lean a tranced hour on my staff above the hills
What time the weald is muted as a tragic sun sets low,
And everywhere in leaf and blade a conscious silence thrills
Responsive to the mood I keep in that rapt afterglow -
None may surprise the secret things I ponder in my mind,
The bitter, immemorial griefs and sorrows that I know,
And verily to man's demesne my musing eyes are blind
As in my own abstracted moods about my ways I go.
And when I yield to temporal thoughts a moment and would will
Forgetfulness of futile grief and barren destiny,
Straight am I touched to ruth again by each brave little mill,
By each intrepid little sail that shines upon the sea.
Yea, I am snared with pity for these brave mortal things,
That make and trim and shorten sail, preening such feeble wings,
Or reap their tiny harvests, or labour in their mills,
All ignorant of Time and Death, or any Cause that wills:
So busy, and so trusting, so radiant to defy
The doom that overtakes them in the twinkling of an eye -
That I am wearied of my sight, of my clear eyes that see
The barren doom to which I sweep through all Eternity.