Old, old!  The hope of old Methuselah
Is all in His forgetfulness.”  With that,
A slave-girl took a cup of wine, and crept
Anear him, saying, “Taste”; and when his lips
Had touched it, lo, he trembled, and he cried,
“Behold, I prophesy.” 
                      Then straight they fled
That were about him, and did stand apart
And stop their ears.  For he, from time to time,
Was plagued with that same fate to prophesy,
And spake against himself, against his day
And time, in words that all men did abhor. 
Therefore, he warning them what time the fit
Came on him, saved them, that they heard it not
So while they fled, he cried:  “I saw the God
Reach out of heaven His wonderful right hand. 
Lo, lo!  He dipped it in the unquiet sea,
And in its curved palm behold the ark,
As in a vast calm lake, came floating on. 
Ay, then, His other hand—­the cursing hand—­
He took and spread between us and the sun. 
And all was black; the day was blotted out,
And horrible staggering took the frighted earth. 
I heard the water hiss, and then methinks
The crack as of her splitting.  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.”