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Normale Version: Io Triumphe!
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Io Triumphe!


I HAD a mirror brought to me to-day,
Wherein I scanned for long what there appeared -
The haggard lines and hues of slow decay,
The hollow cheek, the thin, dishevelled beard,
The sunken weary eye, the pillowed head -
Then looked beyond and saw, where all was stilled,
The faithful mourning ones by death's white bed,
And still beyond, and saw a grave new filled:
Then had I brought to me a pen, and wrote
Of man immortal, free, and uncreate,
In whose wide realm is death but as a mote
In heaven's great sunshine, and whom hostile fate
No more from heights eternal can debar
Than petulant winds can bind the morning star.