And that which here I have been singing
It was all yours—not mine!
From your joy all its gladness bringing:
Its sad chords from your sorrows ringing:
I did but you divine!
Yours were the thoughts forever ranging!
You made the folk-tales true!
In this Earth-show of chance and changing
Of life uniting, death estranging,
Look, Soul! these things were you!
Perchance when Death shall bring me leisure,
And these tired lips lie dumb,
Then you my words will better measure,
And in my love take larger pleasure,
Its meaning being come!