THE ASCETICS

Ages long the hills have stood A solitary brotherhood, Ages long with sinews bare They have shouldered the keen air, They have wrestled with the skies Hiddenly for a dark prize. Merry Spring with her wanton train Tiptoes, tiptoes by in vain; Ye, O hills, never behold Her brave dust of green and gold Flashing by, the pride, the mirth, The myriad fluttering of the earth. This wild magic ye have lost— Tell me, at so bitter cost, What the guerdon ye have won? “Speech with the moon, speech with the sun; Valiancy to meet unbowed The challenge of the thundercloud, And, to quicken us for fresh wars, Gay communion with the stars.”