You do sleep in earth, and dream those dreams
The living have forgot: yet even so the dead
Should quieter lie, than you in your cold grave –
Your bone-enchanting visions are no right
Of any, quick or dead, and in your other days
You saw never such silver grass, such golden streams,
Such hills that bend their heads beneath the sky;
That land where all the trees kneel down before
The knights who pass, who spear the dangling fruits
On jeweled, flashing swords, and eat, and laugh.
Voices that men have never heard unmoved
Call you by the name you thought your own,
And yet another, stranger one you never knew:
Come and come to us, the night grows old,
Your mortal days were naught but faded scraps –
Rise up, o man, take wing and ride the air;
The grave is nothing but a waning dream
And we have hunted fair and deadly things
Across the earth, to ’prison life eterne
Within this cup; rise, then, and drink.
So I have seen you wake, and tall beneath the moon
You have walked alone into the silver night.