Here I make oath--Although the heart that knows its
Hear loath,
And credit less--That he who kens to meet Pain's kisses
Which hiss against his tears,
Dread, loss, nor love frustrate,
Nor all iniquity of the froward
Shall his inur-ed wing make idly bate,
Nor of the appointed quarry his staunch
To lose observance quite;
Seal from half-sad and
Sagacious
Ultimate Paradise;
Nor shake his certitude of haughty fate.
Pacing the burning shares of many dooms,
I with stern tread do the clear-witting
To judgment cite,
If I have borne
The proving of their pure-willed ordeal.
From food of all
The heavenly Falconer my heart debars,
And tames with fearful
The haggard to His call;
Yet sometimes comes a hand, sometimes a voice withal,
And she sits meek now, and expects the light.
In this Avernian sky,
This sultry and incumbent
Of dull and doomed regret;
Where on the unseen verges yet,
O yet,
At intervals,
Trembles, and falls,
Faint lightning of remembered transient sweet--Ah, far too
But to be sweet a little, a little sweet, and fleet;
Leaving this pallid trace,
This loitering and most fitful light a space,
Still some sad space,
For Grief to see her own poor face:-Here where I keep my
With all o'er-anguished feet,
And no live comfort near on any hand;
Lo,
I proclaim the unavoided term,
When this morass of tears, then drained and firm,
Shall be a land--Unshaken I affirm--Where seven-quired psalterings meet;
And all the gods move with calm hand in hand,
And eyes that know not trouble and the worm.
