The Palace that to Heav'n his pillars threw, And Kings the forehead on his threshold drew-- I saw the solitary Ringdove there, And "Coo, coo, coo," she cried; and "Coo, coo, coo." XXI Ah, my Belovéd, fill the Cup that clears TO-DAY of past Regret and Future Fears: _To-morrow!_--Why, To-morrow I may be Myself with Yesterday's Sev'n thousand Years. XXII For some we loved, the loveliest and the best That from his Vintage rolling Time has prest, Have drunk their Cup a Round or two before, And one by one crept silently to rest. XXIII And we, that now make merry in the Room They left, and Summer dresses in new bloom, Ourselves must we beneath the Couch of Earth Descend--ourselves to make a Couch--for whom? XXIV I sometimes think that never blows so red The Rose as where some buried Cæsar bled; That every Hyacinth the Garden wears Dropt in her Lap from some once lovely Head. XXV And this delightful Herb whose living Green Fledges the River's Lip on which we lean-- Ah, lean upon it lightly! for who knows From what once lovely Lip it springs unseen! XXVI Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend, Before we too into the Dust descend; Dust into Dust, and under Dust, to lie, Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and--sans End! XXVII Alike for those who for TO-DAY prepare, And those that after some TO-MORROW stare, A Muezzín from the Tower of Darkness cries, "Fools! your Reward is neither Here nor There." XXVIII Another Voice, when I am sleeping, cries, "The Flower should open with the Morning skies." And a retreating Whisper, as I wake-- "The Flower that once has blown for ever dies." XXIX Why, all the Saints and Sages who discuss'd Of the Two Worlds so learnedly, are thrust Like foolish Prophets forth; their Words to Scorn Are scatter'd, and their Mouths are stopt with Dust. XXX Myself when young did eagerly frequent Doctor and Saint, and heard great argument About it and about: but evermore Came out by the same door as in I went. XXXI With them the seed of Wisdom did I sow, And with my own hand wrought to make it grow; And this was all the Harvest that I reap'd-- "I came like Water, and like Wind I go." XXXII Into this Universe, and _Why_ not knowing, Nor _Whence_, like Water willy-nilly flowing; And out of it, as Wind along the Waste, I know not _Whither_, willy-nilly blowing. XXXIII What, without asking, hither hurried _Whence?_ And, without asking, _Whither_ hurried hence! Ah! contrite Heav'n endowed us with the Vine To drug the memory of that insolence! XXXIV