But the hour is hard at hand When Time's gray wing shall winnow all away The atoms of the earth, the stars of Heaven; When the created and Creator mind Shall know each other, worlds and bodies both Put off for ever." He says finely,-- "We never see the stars Till we can see naught but them. So with truth." Of a young poet,-- "He wrote amid the ruins of his heart, They were his throne and theme; like some lone king Who tells the story of the land he lost, And how he lost it. ... It is no task for suns To shine. He knew himself a bard ordained." These two following quotations may be also put very well together, though taken from different parts of the poem,-- "It is fine To stand upon some lofty mountain-thought, And feel the spirit stretch into the view: To joy in what might be, if will and power, For good, would work together. * * * * * But while we wish, the world turns round And peeps us in the face--the wanton world, We feel it gently pressing down our arm-- The arm we had raised to do for truth such wonders; We feel it softly bearing on our side-- We feel it touch and thrill us through the body-- And we are fools, and there's an end of us." The following are some of the expressions of the mingled tide of passion, and of thought as it flows through the troubled bosom of his hero,-- "And if I love not now, while woman is All bosom to the young, when shall I love? Who ever paused on passion's fiery wheel? Or trembling by the side of her he loved, Whose lightest touch brings all but madness, ever Stopped coldly short to reckon up his pulse? The car comes--and we lie--and let it come; It crushes--kills--what then! It is joy to die. * * * * * Woman! Old people may say what they please, The heart of age is like an emptied wine-cup. * * * * * Oh for the young heart like a fountain playing! Flinging its bright fresh feelings up to the skies It loves and strives to reach--strives, loves in vain: It is of earth and never meant for Heaven. Let us love--and die. * * * * *