No More Learning

' he cried,
'Be praised for anguish which has tried,
For beauty which has satisfied:

"'For this world's presence half within
And half without me--thought and scene--
This sense of Being and Having Been.

"'I thank Thee that my soul hath room
For Thy grand world: both guests may come--
Beauty, to soul--Body, to tomb.

"'I am content to be so weak:
Put strength into the words I speak,
And I am strong in what I seek.

"'I am content to be so bare
Before the archers, everywhere
My wounds being stroked by heavenly air.

"'I laid my soul before Thy feet
That images of fair and sweet
Should walk to other men on it.

"'I am content to feel the step
Of each pure image: let those keep
To mandragore who care to sleep.

"'I am content to touch the brink
Of the other goblet and I think
My bitter drink a wholesome drink.

"'Because my portion was assigned
Wholesome and bitter, Thou art kind,
And I am blessed to my mind.

"'Gifted for giving, I receive
The maythorn and its scent outgive:
I grieve not that I once did grieve.

"'In my large joy of sight and touch
Beyond what others count for such,
I am content to suffer much.

"'_I know_--is all the mourner saith,
Knowledge by suffering entereth,
And Life is perfected by Death. '"

The child spake nobly: strange to hear,
His infantine soft accents clear
Charged with high meanings, did appear;

And fair to see, his form and face
Winged out with whiteness and pure grace
From the green darkness of the place.

Behind his head a palm-tree grew;
An orient beam which pierced it through
Transversely on his forehead drew

The figure of a palm-branch brown
Traced on its brightness up and down
In fine fair lines,--a shadow-crown:

Guido might paint his angels so--
A little angel, taught to go
With holy words to saints below--

Such innocence of action yet
Significance of object met
In his whole bearing strong and sweet.

And all the children, the whole band,
Did round in rosy reverence stand,
Each with a palm-bough in his hand.

"And so he died," I whispered.
"Nay,
Not _so_," the childish voice did say,
"That poet turned him first to pray

"In silence, and God heard the rest
'Twixt the sun's footsteps down the west.
Then he called one who loved him best,

"Yea, he called softly through the room
(His voice was weak yet tender)--'Come,'
He said, 'come nearer! Let the bloom

"'Of Life grow over, undenied,
This bridge of Death, which is not wide--
I shall be soon at the other side.

"'Come, kiss me! ' So the one in truth
Who loved him best,--in love, not ruth,
Bowed down and kissed him mouth to mouth:

"And in that kiss of love was won
Life's manumission. All was done:
The mouth that kissed last, kissed _alone_.

"But in the former, confluent kiss,
The same was sealed, I think, by His,
To words of truth and uprightness. "

The child's voice trembled, his lips shook
Like a rose leaning o'er a brook,
Which vibrates though it is not struck.

"And who," I asked, a little moved
Yet curious-eyed, "was this that loved
And kissed him last, as it behoved? "

"_I_," softly said the child; and then
"_I_," said he louder, once again:
"His son, my rank is among men:

"And now that men exalt his name
I come to gather palms with them,
That holy love may hallow fame.

"He did not die alone, nor should
His memory live so, 'mid these rude
World-praisers--a worse solitude.

"Me, a voice calleth to that tomb
Where these are strewing branch and bloom
Saying, 'Come nearer:' and I come.

"Glory to God! " resumed he,
And his eyes smiled for victory
O'er their own tears which I could see

Fallen on the palm, down cheek and chin--
"That poet now has entered in
The place of rest which is not sin.

"And while he rests, his songs in troops
Walk up and down our earthly slopes,
Companioned by diviner hopes. "

"But _thou_," I murmured to engage
The child's speech farther--"hast an age
Too tender for this orphanage.