When wise men give you their praise. When ye boast your own charters kept true, This is the curse. Write. When fools cast taunts at your gate, As ye look o'er the wall; For your conscience, tradition, and name Explode with a deadlier blame Than the worst of them all. This is the curse. Write. Go, wherever ill deeds shall be done, Go, plant your flag in the sun Beside the ill-doers! And recoil from clenching the curse Of God's witnessing Universe With a curse of yours. This is the curse. Write. A MUSICAL INSTRUMENT What was he doing, the great god Pan, With the dragon-fly on the river? He tore out a reed, the great god Pan, Ere he brought it out of the river. High on the shore sat the great god Pan, He cut it short, did the great god Pan, Then drew the pith, like the heart of a man, Steadily from the outside ring, And notched the poor dry empty thing In holes as he sat by the river. "This is the way," laughed the great god Pan, (Laughed while he sat by the river) "The only way since gods began 53 60 67 12 18 24 Willows whiten, aspens quiver, Thro' the wave that runs forever By the island in the river Flowing down to Camelot. Four grey walls, and four grey towers, Overlook a space of flowers, And the silent isle imbowers The Lady of Shalott. By the margin, willow-veil'd, Skimming down to Camelot: But who hath seen her wave her hand? Or at the casement seen her stand? Or is she known in all the land, The Lady of Shalott? Only reapers, reaping early In among the bearded barley, Hear a song that echoes cheerly Down to tower'd Camelot: PART II There she weaves by night and day A magic web with colours gay. 18 27 36 |