Poems (Dudley)/Immortal

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IMMORTAL.
IN a far-gone, mystic summer, Lit by sun and lulled by rain,When the new moons rose in wonder And the old moons died in pain—
On the clouds a dreaming painter Hung a picture of his bride,And a Poet sang his rapture To the ebbing of the tide;
But, alas! the years have vanished In the sunlight and the rain;Still the new moons glow in wonder, Still the old moons die in pain.
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For the Painter I have vainly Searched the halls of earthly pride;But his picture, smiling downward, Tells the love for which he died.
And the Poet? Never waters, Ebb or flood, his fate reveal;But his rapture, flaming upward, Is the same that I can feel.


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