Ambergris

16 AMBERGRIS What boots the weariness of olden time Now, when old age, a tempest-fury, lowers ? Up to high God beyond the weary land The days drift mournfully ; His hoary hand Gathers them. Is it so ? My Foolish rime Dreams they are links upon an endless band. The planets draw in endless orbits round The sun ; itself revolves in the profound Black wells of space ; the comet’s mystic track By the strong rule of a closed curve is bound. Why not with time ? To-morrow we may see The circle ended—if to-morrow be— And gaze on chaos, and a week bring back Adam and Even beneath the apple tree. Or, like the comet, the wild race may end Out into darkness, and our circle bend Round to all glory, in a sudden sweep, And speed triumphant with the sun to friend. Love will not leave my home. She knows my tears, My angers and caprices ; still my ears Listen to singing voices, till I weep Once more, less sadly, and set hounds on fears. She will not leave me comfortless. And why ? Through the dimmed glory of my clouded eye She catches one sharp glint of love for her ; She will not leave me ever till I die :— Nay, though I die ! Beyond the distant gloom Heaven springs, a fountain, out of Change’s womb ! Time would all men within the grave inter :— For Time himself shall no god find a tomb ?