I saw the angel of the gift of song.
Bearing the coal of immortality,
He touched the lips of singers yet to be,
And, guiding me among the new-devoted throng,
He said, "Hear thou what these shall do!" And then
To one, "What seest thou?" The singer told
Of ancient queens and smoke of battles old,
And of the old, lost wisdom, far beyond our ken.
"What dost thou see?" Again the angel spake.
And answered strong another of the band,
"I sing the power of what mighty hand
Shall grandly shock our all too drowsing world awake!"
Then yet a third the angel answering:
"Such power, old or new, I may not know,
Yet do I serve a mighty queen. For, lo!
I serve white Beauty; therefore, master, do I sing."
"I know my word is slight, my brothers! I
Serve neither queen nor king, nor may be true
To Beauty lasting, power old or new.
I sing the little lovely things that pass and die."
To him the angel: "Such, then dost thou see?
None has thy work among the fire-lipped throng
Save thee. All songs are equal, being song,
And wert thou mute we lost one song; and with it thee."