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John-A-Dreams --

John-A-Dreams --

A laggard in the rear of time's swift feet,
And one who loiters on an aimless way
Through lands he knows not; lured by birds to stray
In secret paths where silence holds the beat
And rust ascending wings. Roads meet;
He turns by hazard of some far-glimpsed spray
Of blossoming tree. Shall condemnation say,
Unprofitable! Empty thy days as fleet?

Nay, if perchance he wanders Paradise,
And in unhurried immortality,
Treads child-like wise and ignorant the thrice
Blessed, ultimate regions of the throne of God?
Then needs he not to fear who walks the sod
Of Heain angels' radiant company.

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