The Thracian Stone

'The faieries gave him the propertie of the Thracian stone; for who toucheth it is exempted from griefe.' The fairies to his cradle came to play their fairy part, Their footsteps like the laughter of a leaf; They touched him with the Thracian stone that setteth free the heart —O dream-enchanted, singing heart!—forever free from grief. The wind it could not blow a way that failed to please him well; Beyond the rain he saw the March skies blue With hope of April violets; he cast his fairy spell Over our flawed and tarnished world, creating all things new. He bore the burden of his day, the burden and the heat, As blithely as a seagull breasts the gale, Glorying that God should trust his strength. The color of ripe wheat Was on his life when it was flung beneath pain's threshing-flail. He fronted that grim challenge like some resplendent knight Who rides against foul foes of fen and wood; With ringing song of onset, his spirit, hero bright, Went tilting with a sunbeam against the dragon brood. Then dusky shapes stole on him, Queen of the Quaking Isle, Queens of the Land of Longing and the Waste; He bowed him to their bidding with a secret in his smile; He quaffed their bitter cups that left ambrosia on the taste. Last came the King of Terrors, and lo! his iron crown Had twinkled to a silver fairy-cap; Like two old friends they took the road to Love-and-Beauty town, That's here and there and everywhere on all the starry map.