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“The sun shone in the new-wash’d sky,
And what from heaven saw he?
Blocks of the past, like icebergs high,
Float on a rolling sea!

“Upon them plies the race of man
All it before endeavour’d;
‘Ye live,’ I cried, ‘ye work and plan,
And know not ye are sever’d!

“‘Poor fragments of a broken world
Whereon men pitch their tent!
Why were ye too to death not hurl’d
When your world’s day was spent?

“‘That glow of central fire is done
Which with its fusing flame
Knit all your parts, and kept you one–
But ye, ye are the same!

“‘The past, its mask of union on,
Had ceased to live and thrive.
The past, its mask of union gone,
Say, is it more alive?

“‘Your creeds are dead, your rites are dead,
Your social order too!
Where tarries he, the Power who said:
See, I make all things new?

“‘The millions suffer still, and grieve,
And what can helpers heal
With old-world cures men half believe
For woes they wholly feel?

“‘And yet men have such need of joy!
But joy whose grounds are true;
And joy that should all hearts employ
As when the past was new.

“‘Ah, not the emotion of that past,
Its common hope, were vain!
Some new such hope must dawn at last,
Or man must toss in pain.

“‘But now the old is out of date,
The new is not yet born,
And who can be alone elate,
While the world lies forlorn?’

“Then to the wilderness I fled.–
There among Alpine snows
And pastoral huts I hid my head,
And sought and found repose.

“It was not yet the appointed hour.
Sad, patient, and resign’d,
I watch’d the crocus fade and flower,
I felt the sun and wind.

“The day I lived in was not mine,
Man gets no second day.
In dreams I saw the future shine–
But ah! I could not stay!

“Action I had not, followers, fame;
I pass’d obscure, alone.
The after-world forgets my name,
Nor do I wish it known.

“Composed to bear, I lived and died,
And knew my life was vain,
With fate I murmur not, nor chide,
At Sevres by the Seine

“(If Paris that brief flight allow)
My humble tomb explore!
It bears: Eternity, be thou
My refuge! and no more.

“But thou, whom fellowship of mood
Did make from haunts of strife
Come to my mountain-solitude,
And learn my frustrate life;

“O thou, who, ere thy flying span
Was past of cheerful youth,
Didst find the solitary man
And love his cheerless truth–

“Despair not thou as I despair’d,
Nor be cold gloom thy prison!
Forward the gracious hours have fared,
And see! the sun is risen!

“He breaks the winter of the past;
A green, new earth appears.
Millions, whose life in ice lay fast,
Have thoughts, and smiles, and tears.

“What though there still need effort, strife?
Though much be still unwon?
Yet warm it mounts, the hour of life!
Death’s frozen hour is done!

“The world’s great order dawns in sheen,
After long darkness rude,
Divinelier imaged, clearer seen,
With happier zeal pursued.

“With hope extinct and brow composed
I mark’d the present die;
Its term of life was nearly closed,
Yet it had more than I.

“But thou, though to the world’s new hour
Thou come with aspect marr’d,
Shorn of the joy, the bloom, the power
Which best befits its bard–

“Though more than half thy years be past,
And spent thy youthful prime;
Though, round thy firmer manhood cast,
Hang weeds of our sad time