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Robert Louis Stevenson > A Child’s Garden of Verses and Underwoods > XXIV. “Not yet, my soul” |
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| CONTENTS · BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD |
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| Stevenson, Robert Louis (1850–1894). A Child’s Garden of Verses and Underwoods. 1913. |
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XXIV. “Not yet, my soul”
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| NOT yet, my soul, these friendly fields desert, | |
| Where thou with grass, and rivers, and the breeze | |
| And the bright face of day, thy dalliance hadst; | |
| Where to thine ear first sang the enraptured birds; | |
| Where love and thou that lasting bargain made. | 5 |
| The ship rides trimmed, and from the eternal shore | |
| Thou hearest airy voices; but not yet | |
| Depart, my soul, not yet awhile depart. | |
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| Freedom is far, rest far. Thou art with life | |
| Too closely woven, nerve with nerve intwined; | 10 |
| Service still craving service, love for love, | |
| Love for dear love, still suppliant with tears. | |
| Alas, not yet thy human task is done! | |
| A bond at birth is forged; a debt doth lie | |
| Immortal on mortality. It grows— | 15 |
| By vast rebound it grows, unceasing growth; | |
| Gift upon gift, alms upon alms, upreared, | |
| From man, from God, from nature, till the soul | |
| At that so huge indulgence stands amazed. | |
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| Leave not, my soul, the unfoughten field, nor leave | 20 |
| Thy debts dishonoured, nor thy place desert | |
| Without due service rendered. For thy life, | |
| Up, spirit, and defend that fort of clay, | |
| Thy body, now beleaguered; whether soon | |
| Or late she fall; whether to-day thy friends | 25 |
| Bewail thee dead, or, after years, a man | |
| Grown old in honour and the friend of peace. | |
| Contend, my soul, for moments and for hours; | |
| Each is with service pregnant; each reclaimed | |
| Is as a kingdom conquered, where to reign. | 30 |
| As when a captain rallies to the fight | |
| His scattered legions, and beats ruin back, | |
| He, on the field, encamps, well pleased in mind. | |
| Yet surely him shall fortune overtake, | |
| Him smite in turn, headlong his ensigns drive; | 35 |
| And that dear land, now safe, to-morrow fall. | |
| But he, unthinking, in the present good | |
| Solely delights, and all the camps rejoice. | |
