Did she take Their palaces that are my brothers dear, And huddle them with all their ancientry Under into her breast?
If it was black, How could this old man see?
There was a noise I' the dark, and He drew back His hand again.
I looked,--It was a dream,--let no man say It was aught else.

There, so--the fit goes by.
Sir, and my daughters, is it eventide ?-- Sooner than that, saith old Methuselah, Let the vulture lay his beak to my green limbs.
What! art Thou envious ?--are the sons of men Too wise to please Thee, and to do Thy will?
Methuselah, he sitteth on the ground, Clad in his gown of age, the pale white gown, And goeth not forth to war; his wrinkled hands He claspeth round his knees: old, very old.
Would he could steal from Thee one secret more-- The secret of Thy youth! O, envious God! We die.

The words of old Methuselah And his prophecy are ended." Then the wives, Beholding how he trembled, and the maids And children, came anear, saying, "Who art thou That standest gazing on the Elder?
Lo, Thou dost not well: withdraw; for it was thou Whose stranger presence troubled him, and brought The fit of prophecy." And he did turn To look upon them, and their majesty And glorious beauty took away his words; And being pure among the vile, he cast In his thought a veil of snow-white purity Over the beauteous throng.

"Thou dost not well," They said.

He answered: "Blossoms o' the world, Fruitful as fair, never in watered glade, Where in the youngest grass blue cups push forth, And the white lily reareth up her head, And purples cluster, and the saffron flower Clear as a flame of sacrifice breaks out, And every cedar bough, made delicate With climbing roses, drops in white and red,-- Saw I (good angels keep you in their care) So beautiful a crowd." With that, they stamped, Gnashed their white teeth, and turning, fled and spat Upon the floor.