With gages from a hundred brighter eyes

And a voice said in mastery, while I strove,--

From God than from all others, O my friend !

The dark, and leaning up a cypress tree?

Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair;

As once Electra her sepulchral urn,

I saw, in gradual vision through my tears,

Men could not part us with their worldly jars,

It might be well perhaps. But if instead

Look up and see the casement broken in,

Nor the seas change us, nor the tempests bend;

The hair beneath. Stand farther off then ! go.

As once Electra her sepulchral urn,

A poor, tired, wandering singer, singing through

To bear a gift for mortals, old or young;

That none of all the fires shall scorch and shred

And Death must dig the level where these agree.

Most gracious singer of high poems! where

Of watching up thy pregnant lips for more.

Who each one in a gracious hand appears

Of the sweet years, the dear and wished-for years,

Aread.99csw.com poor, tired, wandering singer, singing through

And a voice said in mastery, while I strove,--

Have heard this word thou has said,--Himself, beside

Unlike our uses and our destinies.

From God than from all others, O my friend!

To let thy music drip here unaware

The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years,

The silver answer rang,--<i>Not Death, but Love.</i>

One of us...that was God,...and laid the curse

Thee speaking, and me listening! and replied

Than tears even can make mine, to play thy part

And dost thou lift this houses latch too poor

The ashes at thy feet. Behold and see

So darkly on my eyelids, as to amerce

Than tears even can make mine, to play thy part

I lift my heavy heart up solemnly,

Most gracious singer of high poems ! where

O my Belovèd, will not shield thee so,

Unlike our uses and our destinies.

Thou wait beside me for the wind to blow

And, looking in thine eyes, I overturn

My sight from seeing thee,--that if I had died,

I thought once how Theocritus had sung

The grey dust read.99csw.comup,...those laurels on thine head,

The deathweights, placed there, would have signified

With gages from a hundred brighter eyes

On one another, as they strike athwart

Could tread them out to darkness utterly,

And Death must dig the level where these agree.

A guest for queens to social pageantries,

So darkly on my eyelids, as to amerce

Thou wait beside me for the wind to blow

Who each one in a gracious hand appears

That weeps...as thou must sing...alone, aloof.

Thou hast thy calling to some palace-floor,

With looking from the lattice-lights at me,

One of us . . . that was God, . . . and laid the curse

The hair beneath. Stand farther off then! go.

My cricket chirps against thy mandolin.

The bats and owlets builders in the roof !

To let thy music drop here unaware

In folds of golden fulness at my door?

Those of my own life, who by turns had flung

The silver answer rang,-- Not Death, but Love.

Thee speaking, and me listening ! and replied

The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years,

And how the red wild sparkles dimly burn

The deathweights, placed there, would have signified

And how the red wild 九_九_藏_書sparkles dimly burn

For hand of thine? and canst thou think and bear

Look up and see the casement broken in,

Guess now who holds thee ? -- Death, I said. But, there,

Nor the seas change us, nor the tempests bend;

The dancers will break footing, from the care

What a great heap of grief lay hid in me,

Guess now who holds thee?--<i>Death,</i> I said, But, there,

Their wings in passing. Thou, bethink thee, art

Their wings in passing. Thou, bethink thee, art

A shadow across me. Straightaway I was ware,

Through the ashen greyness. If thy foot in scorn

We should but vow the faster for the stars.

So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move

Less absolute exclusion. Nay is worse

Our ministering two angels look surprise

The dark, and leaning up a cypress tree ?

Through the ashen grayness. If thy foot in scorn

It might be well perhaps. But if instead

My cricket chirps against thy mandolin.

That none of all the fires shall scorch and shred

A shadow across me. Straightway I 九_九_藏_書was ware,

Our ministering two angels look surprise

The chrism is on thine head,--on mine, the dew,--

Less absolute exclusion. Nay is worse

Of chief musician. What hast thou to do

With looking from the lattice-lights at me,

But only three in all Gods universe

My sight from seeing thee,--that if I had died,

To bear a gift for mortals, old or young:

Could tread them out to darkness utterly,

Of desolation ! there s a voice within

The dancers will break footing, from the care

The gray dust up, . . . those laurels on thine head,

And, as I mused it in his antique tongue,

Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair:

The bats and owlets builders in the roof!

Our hands would touch for all the mountain-bars:

A guest for queens to social pageantries,

Have heard this word thou hast said,--Himself, beside

The chrism is on thine head,--on mine, the dew--

Our hands would touch for all the mountain-bars:

And dost thou lift this houses latch too poor

Of desolation! theres a voice within

Hush, call no echo up in further proof

And, as I mused it in his antique tongue,

Iread.99csw.comn folds of golden fulness at my door ?

Thou hast thy calling to some palace-floor,

Men could not part us with their worldly jars,

I lift my heavy heart up solemnly,

I saw, in gradual vision through my tears,

So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move

And, heaven being rolled between us at the end,

Of chief musician. What hast thou to do

Of the sweet years, the dear and wished-for years,

O my Beloved, will not shield thee so,

Unlike are we, unlike, O princely Heart !

We should but vow the faster for the stars.

What a great heap of grief lay hid in me,

And, looking in thine eyes, I overturn

Those of my own life, who by turns had flung

On one another, as they strike athwart

Unlike are we, unlike, O princely Heart!

That weeps . . . as thou must sing . . . alone, aloof

Of watching up thy pregnant lips for more.

For hand of thine ? and canst thou think and bear

The ashes at thy feet. Behold and see

And, heaven being rolled between us at the end,

Hush, call no echo up in further proof