William Watson (1858 – 1935)
English poet, popular in his time for the political content of his verse.
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Deemest thou labor
Only is earnest?
Grave is all beauty,
Solemn is joy.
Best they honor thee
Who honor in thee only what is best.
April, April,
Laugh thy girlish laughter;
Then, the moment after,
Weep thy girlish tears!
O ye by wandering tempest sown
’Neath every alien star,
Forget not whence the breath was blown
That wafted you afar!
For ye are still her ancient seed
On younger soil let fall—
Children of Britain’s island-breed,
To whom the Mother in her need
Perchance may one day call.
Braying of arrogant brass, whimper of querulous reeds.
The after-silence, when the feast is o'er,
And void the places where the minstrels stood,
Differs in nought from what hath been before,
And is nor ill nor good.
And though circuitous and obscure
The feet of Nemesis how sure!
In this world with starry dome,
Floored with gemlike plains and seas,
Shall I never feel at home,
Never wholly be at ease?
On from room to room I stray,
Yet mine Host can ne’er espy,
And I know not to this day,
Whether guest or captive I.
Empires dissolve and peoples disappear,
Song passes not away.
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