The Death of Franco of Cologne:
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t is useless, good woman, useless: the spark fails me.God! yet when the might of it all assails meIt seems impossible that I cannot do it.Yet I cannot. They were right, and they all knew itYears ago, but I--never! I have persistedBlindly (they say) and now I am old. I have resistedEverything, but now, now the strife's ended.The fire's out; the old cloak has been mendedFor the last time, the soul peers through its tatters.Put a light by and leave me; nothing more mattersNow; I am done; I am at last well broken!Yet, by God, I'll still leave them a tokenThat they'll swear it was no dead man writ it;A morsel that they'll mark well the day they bit it,That there'll be sand between their gross teeth to crunch yetWhen goodman Gabriel blows his concluding trumpet.Leave me!And now, little black eyes, come you out here!Ah, you've given me a lively, lasting bout, yearAfter year to win you round me darlings!Precious children, little gambollers! "farlings"They might have called you once, "nearlings"I call you now, I, first of all the yearlings,Upon this plain, for I it was that tore youOut of chaos! It was I bore you!Ah, you little children that go playingOver the five-barred gate, and will still be strayingSpite of all that I have ever told youOf counterpoint and cadence which does not hold you--No more than chains will for this or that strange reason,But you're always at some new loving treasonTo be away from me, laughing, mocking,Witlessly, perhaps, but for all that forever knockingAt this stanchion door of your poor father's heart till--oh, wellAt least you've shown that you can grow wellHowever much you evade me faster, faster.But, black eyes, some day you'll get a master,For he will come! He shall, he must come!And when he finishes and the burning dust fromHis wheels settles--what shall men see then?You, you, you, my own lovely children!Aye, all of you, thus with hands togetherPlaying on the hill or there in a tether,Or running free, but all mine! Aye, my very namesakesShall be his proper fame's stakes.And he shall lead you!And he shall meed you!And he shall build you gold palaces!And he shall wine you from clear chalices!For I have seen it! I have seen itWritten where the world-clouds screen itFrom other eyesOver the bronze gates of paradise!
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