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| THERE came a youth upon the earth, | |
| Some thousand years ago, | |
| Whose slender hands were nothing worth, | |
| Whether to plough, or reap, or sow. | |
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| He made a lyre, and drew therefrom | 5 |
| Music so strange and rich, | |
| That all men loved to hear,—and some | |
| Muttered of fagots for a witch. | |
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| But King Admetus, one who had | |
| Pure taste by right divine, | 10 |
| Decreed his singing not too bad | |
| To hear between the cups of wine: | |
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| And so, well-pleased with being soothed, | |
| Into a sweet half-sleep, | |
| Three times his kingly beard he smoothed, | 15 |
| And made him viceroy o’er his sheep. | |
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| His words were simple words enough | |
| And yet he used them so, | |
| That what in other mouths was rough | |
| In his seemed musical and low. | 20 |
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| Men called him but a shiftless youth, | |
| In whom no good they saw; | |
| And yet unwittingly, in truth, | |
| They made his careless words their law. | |
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| They knew not how he learned at all, | 25 |
| For idly, hour by hour, | |
| He sat and watched the dead leaves fall, | |
| Or mused upon a common flower. | |
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| It seemed the loveliness of things | |
| Did teach him all their use, | 30 |
| For, in mere weeds, and stones, and springs, | |
| He found a healing power profuse. | |
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| Men granted that his speech was wise, | |
| But, when a glance they caught | |
| Of his slim grace and woman’s eyes, | 35 |
| They laughed, and called him good-for-naught. | |
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| Yet after he was dead and gone, | |
| And e’en his memory dim, | |
| Earth seemed more sweet to live upon, | |
| More full of love, because of him. | 40 |
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| And day by day more holy grew | |
| Each spot where he had trod, | |
| Till after-poets only knew | |
| Their firstborn brother as a god. | |
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