The New-Comers Two swallows—each preening a long glossy feather Now they gossip and dart through the silvery weather; Oh, praise to the Highest-two lovers together — Free, free, in the fathomless world of air. No fate to oppose and no fortune to sunder; And their home on the cliff in the midst of the Hung high beyond fear on the gray granite stair. It is the last appeal to man- Voice tender and heroical- My life is a dream—a dream A touch of the infinite fire. But now 'tis enough that I be In the light of the sea; Enough that I climb with the cloud Enough that I fade with the stars The Old Earth How will it be if there we find no traces- And fair hands draw him down to darkened wells; Fair hands that hold him fast With laughter at the last Have power to draw him lightly down to be In elfin chambers under the gray sea. And I, O men of Earth, I too, When dawn was at the dew, Was drawn as Hylas downward and beheld |