Instead of men and women, years ago,

The glory as I dreamed, and fainted when

Once, as a friend: this fixed a day in spring

Or I, who makes me sad? The acolyte

Who camest to me when the world was gone,

This said, I am thine—and so its ink has paled

And let these bands of greenery which insphere thee

Because Gods gifts put mans best dreams to shame.

With Iying at my heart that beat too fast.

This said,—he wished to have me in his sight

Too vehement light dilated my ideal,

I lived with visions for my 九九藏书网company

XXVIII

Except the straggling green which hides the wood.

XXIX

Refer the cause?—Beloved, is it thou

Drop heavily down,—burst, shattered, everywhere!

Their songs, their splendors (better, yet the same,

As now these tears come—falling hot and real?

About thee, as wild vines, about a tree,

I see thine image through my tears to-night,

As one who stands in dewless asphodel

Who art dearer, better! Rather, instantly

From this drear flat of earth where I was thrown,

Make witness, here, between the good and bad,

I think of thee!—my thoug九*九*藏*书*网hts do twine and bud

And yet to-day I saw thee smiling. How

And I myself grew faint and blind below

And let them drop down on my knee to-night.

And breathe within thy shadow a new air,

Met in thee, and from out thee overcame

And, in betwixt the languid ringlets, blown

On the altar-stair. I hear thy voice and vow,

Said, Dear, I love thee; and I sank and quailed

For my souls eyes? Will that light come again,

Yet I wept for it!—this, . . . the papers light . . .

And I who looked for only God, found thee!

As he, in his swooning ears, the choirs Amen.

Yet, O my palm-tree, be it understood

But soon their trailing purple was not free

And this . . . O Love, thy words have ill availed

I will not have my thoughts instead of thee

XXX

As if Gods future thundered on my past.

Shines out again, as all the angels see,

Against my tremulous hands which loose the string

My letters! all dead p九九藏书网aper, mute and white!

Their vanishing eyes. Then THOU didst come—to be,

To come and touch my hand . . . a simple thing,

Looks backward on the tedious time he had

That Love, as strong as Death, retrieves as well.

A sweeter music than they played to me.

And found them gentle mates, nor thought to know

Put out broad leaves, and soon there s nought to see

My own Beloved, who hast lifted me

And yet they seem alive and quivering

Before thy saving kiss! My own, my own,

Renew thy presence; as a strong tree should,

I find thee; I am safe, and strong, and glad.

Amid the chanted joy and thankful rite

Rustle thy boughs and set thy t藏书网runk all bare,

Beloved, what they seemed. Their shining fronts,

May so fall flat, with pale insensate brow,

Perplexed, uncertain, since thou art out of sight,

If, what this said, I dared repeat at last!

I do not think of thee—I am too near thee.

Because, in this deep joy to see and hear thee

My soul with satisfaction of all wants:

Beloved, dost thou love? or did I see all

XXVI

Of this worlds dust, their lutes did silent grow,

As river-water hallowed into fonts),

In the upper life,—so I, with bosom-swell,

XXVII

A life-breath, till the forehead hopefully