So is it, haply, when Dull eyes look up, and then Dull eyes look down again. Waste no vain holiday on such as these; For them there is no joy in blossomed trees. V For them there is no joy in blossomed trees. And with what eye-shut ease We leave them, at the last, for company, The Tree, Whose two stark boughs no springtime yet unfurled, Ever, since time began; Nor bloom so strange to see!-- Behold, the Man, With His two arms outstretched to fold the world. _O, do you remember?--How it came to be? Far, golden windows gazing from the shore; Golden ebb of daylight; heart could hold no more: Belovèd and Belovèd, and the sea._ _Westward the sun,--low, slow and golden; Eastward the moon climbed, honey-pale. O do you remember? while our eyes were holden, Close, close upon us,--the Golden Sail? Wind-swift she came,--thing of living flame, Sea-breathing Glory, to make the heart afraid! The ripples, fold on fold Of coiling gold, Trailing a thousand ways Her golden maze, Rocked in a golden tumult, every one, The gondolas, the ships .. Westward she made ..... A portent from the sky,--gone by, gone by, To golden, far eclipse; ... Into the Sun._ _Behold, a mystery That shook to golden throbbing all the sea. Oh, and what needed one more wonder be For thee and me, Belovèd? thee and me?_ RICH MAN, POOR MAN '_Rich man, Poor man, Beggar man, Thief, Doctor, Lawyer, Merchant, Chief._' I Highway, stretched along the sun, Highway, thronged till day is done; Where the drifting Face replaces Wave on wave on wave of faces, And you count them, one by one: '_Rich man--Poor man--Beggar man--Thief: Doctor--Lawyer--Merchant--Chief._' Is it soothsay?--Is it fun? Young ones, like as wave and wave; Old ones, like as grave and grave; Tide on tide of human faces With what human undertow! Rich man, poor man, beggar-man, thief!-- Tell me of the eddying spaces, Show me where the lost ones go; Like and lost, as leaf and leaf. What's your secret grim refrain Back and forth and back again, Once, and now, and always so? Three days since, and who was Thief? Three days more, and who'll be Chief? Oh, is that beyond belief, _Doctor, Lawyer--Merchant-Chief?_ (_Down, like grass before the mowing; On, like wind in its mad going:-- Wind and dust forever blowing._) Highway, shrill with murderous pride, Highway, of the swarming tide! Why should my way lead me deeper? I am not my Brother's keeper. II