body of Time,
     Yourselves in slaying him slay. 
     Much are you shots of your prime,
     You men of the act and the dream: 
     And please you to fatten a weed
     That perishes, pledged to decay,
     ’Tis dearth in your season of need,
     Down the slopes of the shoreward way; —
     Nigh on the misty stream,
     Where Ferryman under his hood,
     With a call to be ready to pay
     The small coin, whitens red blood. 
     But the young ethereal seed
     Shall bring you the bread no buyer
     Can have for his craving supreme;
     To my quenchless quick shall speed
     The soul at her wrestle rude
     With devil, with angel more dire;
     With the flesh, with the Fates, enringed. 
     The dream of the blossom of Good
     Is your banner of battle unrolled
     In its waver and current and curve
     (Choir over choir white-winged,
     White-bosomed fold within fold): 
     Hopeful of victory most
     When hard is the task to sustain
     Assaults of the fearful sense
     At a mind in desolate mood
     With the Whither, whose echo is Whence;
     And humanity’s clamour, lost, lost;
     And its clasp of the staves that snap;
     And evil abroad, as a main
     Uproarious, bursting its dyke. 
     For back do you look, and lo,
     Forward the harvest of grain! —
     Numbers in council, awake
     To love more than things of my lap,
     Love me; and to let the types break,
     Men be grass, rocks rivers, all flow;
     All save the dream sink alike
     To the source of my vital in sap: 
     Their battle, their loss, their ache,
     For my pledge of vitality know. 
     The dream is the thought in the ghost;
     The thought sent flying for food;
     Eyeless, but sprung of an aim
     Supernal of Reason, to find
     The great Over-Reason we name
     Beneficence:  mind seeking Mind. 
     Dream of the blossom of Good,
     In its waver and current and curve,
     With the hopes of my offspring enscrolled! 
     Soon to be seen of a host
     The flag of the Master I serve! 
     And life in them doubled on Life,
     As flame upon flame, to behold,
     High over Time-tumbled sea,
     The bliss of his headship of strife,
     Him through handmaiden me.’

     Change in recurrence

     I

     I stood at the gate of the cot
     Where my darling, with side-glance demure,
     Would spy, on her trim garden-plot,
     The busy wild things chase and lure. 
     For these with their ways were her feast;
     They had surety no enemy lurked. 
     Their deftest of tricks to their least
     She gathered in watch as she worked.

     II