Читать книгу The lost chimes, and other poems онлайн

5 страница из 41

To reach an aim of lifelong beckoning,

Thus did he give himself to this one thing,

Began his task in spotless white, and kempt,

Emerging from the sacramental hour.

He days and nights upon his labor fixed,

Forgetful both of hunger and of sleep,—

His soul reflected in the fiery glow;

And some did say, he let his life-blood flow,

And others, that he sometimes stopped to weep,

And with his blood and tears the metal mixed.

And when at last the chimes were cast, there came

A great collapse of utter weariness

Upon him, and he slept for many days;

The finishing, with all artistic ways,

Was patience’s work, more like a fond caress

Of something born of inspiration’s flame.

The day of testing came, the final test;

Sordino coming early in the morn,

Since eager was his soul to know for sooth,

If its ideal of the highest truth—

Of harmony—incarnate can be born,

And with the works of man itself invest.

And when two skilful hands intoned a hymn,

And gave the chimes a chance for utterance,—