He held that flashing sceptre up. ‘Joy drowns the twilight in the dew, And fills with stars night’s purple cup, And wakes the sluggard seeds of corn, And stirs the young kid’s budding horn, And makes the infant ferns unwrap, And for the peewit paints his cap, And rolls along the unwieldy sun, And makes the little planets run: And if joy were not on the earth, There were an end of change and birth, And earth and heaven and hell would die, And in some gloomy barrow lie Folded like a frozen fly; Then mock at Death and Time with glances And waving arms and wandering dances. ‘Men’s hearts of old were drops of flame That from the saffron morning came, Or drops of silver joy that fell Out of the moon’s pale twisted shell; But now hearts cry that hearts are slaves, And toss and turn in narrow caves; But here there is nor law nor rule, Nor have hands held a weary tool; And here there is nor Change nor Death, But only kind and merry breath, For joy is God and God is joy.’ With one long glance on maid and boy And the pale blossom of the moon, He fell into a Druid swoon. And in a wild and sudden dance We mocked at Time and Fate and Chance, And swept out of the wattled hall And came to where the dewdrops fall Among the foamdrops of the sea, And there we hushed the revelry; And, gathering on our brows a frown, Bent all our swaying bodies down, And to the waves that glimmer by That slooping green De Danaan sod Sang, ‘God is joy and joy is God, And things that have grown sad are wicked, And things that fear the dawn of the morrow, Or the gray wandering osprey Sorrow.’ We danced to where in the winding thicket The damask roses, bloom on bloom, Like crimson meteors hang in the gloom, And bending over them softly said, Bending over them in the dance, With a swift and friendly glance From dewy eyes: ‘Upon the dead Fall the leaves of other roses, On the dead dim earth encloses: But never, never on our graves, Heaped beside the glimmering waves, Shall fall the leaves of damask roses. For neither Death nor Change comes near us, And all listless hours fear us, And we fear no dawning morrow, Nor the gray wandering osprey Sorrow.’