A Lamentation

I.     Who hath known the ways of time     Or trodden behind his feet?     There is no such man among men.     For chance overcomes him, or crime     Changes; for all things sweet     In time wax bitter again.     Who shall give sorrow enough,     Or who the abundance of tears?     Mine eyes are heavy with love     And a sword gone thorough mine ears,     A sound like a sword and fire,     For pity, for great desire;     Who shall ensure me thereof,     Lest I die, being full of my fears?     Who hath known the ways and the wrath,     The sleepless spirit, the root     And blossom of evil will,     The divine device of a god?     Who shall behold it or hath?     The twice-tongued prophets are mute,     The many speakers are still;     No foot has travelled or trod,     No hand has meted, his path.     Mans fate is a blood-red fruit,     And the mighty gods have their fill     And relax not the rein, or the rod.     Ye were mighty in heart from of old,     Ye slew with the spear, and are slain.     Keen after heat is the cold,     Sore after summer is rain,     And melteth man to the bone.     As water he weareth away,     As a flower, as an hour in a day,     Fallen from laughter to moan.     But my spirit is shaken with fear     Lest an evil thing begin,     New-born, a spear for a spear,     And one for another sin.     Or ever our tears began,     It was known from of old and said;     One law for a living man,     And another law for the dead.     For these are fearful and sad,     Vain, and things without breath;     While he lives let a man be glad,     For none hath joy of his death. II.     Who hath known the pain, the old pain of earth,     Or all the travail of the sea,     The many ways and waves, the birth     Fruitless, the labour nothing worth?     Who hath known, who knoweth, O gods? not we.     There is none shall say he hath seen,     There is none he hath known.     Though he saith, Lo, a lord have I been,     I have reaped and sown;     I have seen the desire of mine eyes,     The beginning of love,     The season of kisses and sighs     And the end thereof.     I have known the ways of the sea,     All the perilous ways,     Strange winds have spoken with me,     And the tongues of strange days.     I have hewn the pine for ships;     Where steeds run arow,     I have seen from their bridled lips     Foam blown as the snow.     With snapping of chariot-poles     And with straining of oars     I have grazed in the race the goals,     In the storm the shores;     As a greave is cleft with an arrow     At the joint of the knee,     I have cleft through the sea-straits narrow     To the heart of the sea.     When air was smitten in sunder     I have watched on high     The ways of the stars and the thunder     In the night of the sky;     Where the dark brings forth light as a flower,     As from lips that dissever;     One abideth the space of an hour,     One endureth for ever.     Lo, what hath he seen or known,     Of the way and the wave     Unbeholden, unsailed-on, unsown,     From the breast to the grave?     Or ever the stars were made, or skies,     Grief was born, and the kinless night,     Mother of gods without form or name.     And light is born out of heaven and dies,     And one day knows not anothers light,     But night is one, and her shape the same.     But dumb the goddesses underground     Wait, and we hear not on earth if their feet     Rise, and the night wax loud with their wings;     Dumb, without word or shadow of sound;     And sift in scales and winnow as wheat     Mens souls, and sorrow of manifold things. III.     Nor less of grief than ours     The gods wrought long ago     To bruise men one by one;     But with the incessant hours     Fresh grief and greener woe     Spring, as the sudden sun     Year after year makes flowers;     And these die down and grow,     And the next year lacks none.     As these men sleep, have slept     The old heroes in time fled,     No dream-divided sleep;     And holier eyes have wept     Than ours, when on her dead     Gods have seen Thetis weep,     With heavenly hair far-swept     Back, heavenly hands outspread     Round what she could not keep,     Could not one day withhold,     One night; and like as these     White ashes of no weight,     Held not his urn the cold     Ashes of Heracles?     For all things born one gate     Opens, no gate of gold;     Opens; and no man sees     Beyond the gods and fate.