One anatomic.' Nay, we thought of that,' Nor willing men should come among us, learnt, This craft of healing. Which touches on the Were you sick, ourself To your question now, workman and his work. Let there be light and there was light; 't is so, And all creation is one act at once, The birth of light; but we that are not all, As parts, can see but parts, now this, now that, And live, perforce, from thought to thought, and make One act a phantom of succession. Thus Our weakness somehow shapes the shadow, Time; But in the shadow will we work, and mould The woman to the fuller day.' She spake With kindled eyes: we rode a league beyond, And, o'er a bridge of pinewood crossing, came Full of all beauty. O, how sweet,' I said, For I was half-oblivious of my mask, To linger here with one that loved us!' Yea,' She answer'd, or with fair philosophies That lift the fancy; for indeed these fields But we Set forth to climb; then, climbing, Cyril kept With Psyche, with Melissa Florian, I With mine affianced. Many a little hand In the dark crag. And then we turn'd, we wound Grew broader toward his death and fell, and all The rosy heights came out above the lawns. The splendor falls on castle walls And snowy summits old in story; Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, O, hark, O, hear! how thin and clear, O, sweet and far from cliff and scar The horns of Elfland faintly blowing! Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying, O love, they die in yon rich sky, They faint on hill or field or river; And grow for ever and for ever. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying. IV There sinks the nebulous star we call the sun, If that hypothesis of theirs be sound,' No bigger than a glowworm shone the tent me, Descending; once or twice she lent her hand, And blissful palpitations in the blood But when we planted level feet, and dipt A fragrant flame rose, and before us glow'd Then she, Let some one sing to us; lightlier move The minutes fledged with music;' and a maid, Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail, Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns The earliest pipe of half-awaken'd birds To dying ears, when unto dying eyes The casement slowly grows a glimmering square; • Dear as remember'd kisses after death, She ended with such passion that the tear So sweet a voice and vague, fatal to men, Well needs it we should cram our ears with wool Wiser to weep a true occasion lost, But trim our sails, and let old bygones be, While down the streams that float us each and all To the issue, goes, like glittering bergs of ice, Throne after throne, and molten on the waste Becomes a cloud; for all things serve their time Toward that great year of equal mights and rights. Nor would I fight with iron laws, in the end Found golden. Let the past be past, let be |