So life shall flow Here on this globe until the final fruit And harvest. As it were until the glow Of the great blossom has the attribute In essence, color of eternal things, And shows no rim between its hues which suit The infinite sky's. Then if the dead earth swings A gleaned and stricken field amid the void What matters it to you, a soul with wings, Whether it be replanted or destroyed? Has it not served you?" Now his voice was still, Which in such discourse had been thus employed. And in that lonely cavern dark and chill I heard again, "Then what is life?" And woke To find the moonlight on the window sill That which had seemed his presence. And a cloak, Whose hood was perked upon the moonbeams, made The skull of the Neanderthal. The smoke Blown from the fireplace formed the cavern's shade. And roaring winds blew down as they had tuned The voice which left me calm and unafraid. THE END OF THE SEARCH _There's the dragon banner, says Old King Cole, And the tiger banner, he cries. Pantagruel breaks into a laugh As the monarch dries his eyes.--The Search_ _"The tiger banyer, that is what you call much Bad men in China, Amelica. The dragon banyer. That is storm, leprosy, no rice, what you call Nature. See! Nature!"--King Joy_ * * * * * Said Old King Cole I know the banner Of dragon and tiger too, But I would know the vagrant fellows Who came to my castle with you. * * * * * And I would know why they rise in the morning And never take bread or scrip; And why they hasten over the mountain In a sorrowed fellowship. * * * * * Then said Pantagruel: Heard you not? One said he goes to Spain. One said he goes to Elsinore, And one to the Trojan plain. * * * * * Faith, if it be, said Old King Cole, There is a word that's more: Who is it goes to Spain and Troy? And who to Elsinore? * * * * * One may be Quixote, said Pantagruel, Out for the final joust. One may be Hamlet, said Pantagruel And one I think is Faust. * * * * * Whoever they be, said Pantagruel, Why stand at the window and drool? Let's out and catch the runaways While the morning hour is cool. * * * * * Pantagruel runs to the castle court, And King Cole follows soon. The cobblestones of the court yard ring To the beat of their flying shoon. * * * * *