Life and Existence

Go, for they call you, Shepherd, from the hill.

But often in the world’s most crowded streets, But often, in the din of strife, There rises an unspeakable desire After the knowledge of our buried life.

Yes, in the sea of life enisled, With echoing straits between us thrown, Dotting the shoreless watery wild, We mortal millions live alone .

Is it so small a thing To have enjoyed the sun, To have lived light in the spring, To have loved, to have thought, to have done; To have advanced true friends, and beat down baffling foes?

Nature, with equal mind, Sees all her sons at play; Sees man control the wind, The wind sweep man away.

So, loath to suffer mute, We, peopling the void air, Make Gods to whom to impute The ills we ought to bear.

We do not what we ought; What we ought not, we do; And lean upon the thought That chance will bring us through.

We cannot kindle when we will The fire that in the heart resides, The spirit bloweth and is still, In mystery our soul abides.

Yet they, believe me, who await No gifts from Chance, have conquered Fate.

The world in which we live and move Outlasts aversion, outlasts love: Outlasts each effort, interest, hope, Remorse, grief, joy.

Fate gave, what Chance shall not control, His sad lucidity of soul.

My special thanks, whose even-balanced soul, From first youth tested up to extreme old age, Business could not make dull, nor passion wild: Who saw life steadily and saw it whole.

My special thanks, whose even-balanced soul, From first youth tested up to extreme old age, Business could not make dull, nor passion wild: Who saw life steadily and saw it whole.

O Death, old captain, it is time! raise the anchor! 9

I have more memories than if I were a thousand years old. 5

I am as one disembodied, triumphant, dead.

I dream in my dream all the dreams of the other dreamers, And I become the other dreamers.

The horizon’s edge, the flying sea-crow, the fragrance of salt marsh and shore mud, These became part of that child who went forth every day, and who now goes, and will always go forth every day.

To me every hour of the light and dark is a miracle, Every cubic inch of space is a miracle.

There was a child went forth every day, And the first object he look’d upon, that object he became.

There was a child went forth every day, And the first object he look’d upon, that object he became.

Exult O shores, and ring O bells! But I with mournful tread, Walk the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead.

Dark mother always gliding near with soft feet, Have none chanted for thee a chant of fullest welcome?

Come lovely and soothing death, Undulate round the world, serenely arriving, arriving, In the day, in the night, to all, to each, Sooner or later delicate death.