The Recluse.
Winds of the World, to-night I
hear1
Your bugles blowing shrill and clear ;2
Calling, still calling. ’Tis in vain,3
I ride not at your call again.4
Ay me, and would you stir me yet5
To the old hope, the old regret,6
The passions and the pains of youth ?7
Once like the knights of old I went8
Riding to tilt and tournament9
With shield of Faith and sword of Truth,10
Joy sang before me, I was blind11
To the grim care that rode behind.12
But now within my cloistered heart13
Far from the world I dwell apart,14
Hearing but what I choose to hear.15
Shut out alike are Love and Fear,16
The two great brother-gods who go17
About the dim world, working woe.18
Here the sweet air is all unstirred19
Even by the far-felt, distant beat20
Of their strong wings, of their white feet.21
Their strange, mad music dies unheard22
Ere ever it can pass the bound23
That fences this my temple round.24
Here would I dwell alone, as far25
From the fierce world as is the star26
That burns upon the brow of Eve ;27
No more to joy, no more to grieve28
For aught that moves the lives of men.29
Ah, heart of mine, what thrills thee then30
In that faint call that rings afar ?31
Music and laughter rise and fall,32
And evermore the bugles call33
To Life, and Love, and glorious War.34
Hark to the thunder of the drum,35
Winds of the World, I come, I come !36