Nay more; for there wanted not who walked, in the glare and glow, Presences plain in the place; or, fresh, from the Protoplast, Furnished for ages to come, when a kindlier wind should blow, Lured now to begin and live, in a house to their liking at last: Or else the wonderful Dead who have passed thro' the body and gone, But were back once more to breathe in an old world worth their new: What never had been, was now; what was, as it shall be anon; And what is,--shall I say, matched both? for I was made perfect too. 40 All thro' my keys that gave their sounds to a wish of my soul, All thro' my soul that praised as its wish flowed visibly forth, All thro' music and me! For think, had I painted the whole, Why, there it had stood, to see, nor the process so wonder-worth: Had I written the same, made verse--still, effect proceeds from cause, Ye know why the forms are fair, ye hear how the tale is told; It is all triumphant art, but art in obedience to laws, Painter and poet are proud, in the artist-list enrolled:-- But here is the finger of God, a flash of the will that can, Existent behind all laws, that made them, and, lo, they are! 50 And I know not if, save in this, such gift be allowed to man, That out of three sounds he frame, not a fourth sound, but a star. Consider it well: each tone of our scale in itself is naught; It is everywhere in the world--loud, soft, and all is said: Give it to me to use! I mix it with two in my thought, And, there! Ye have heard and seen; consider and bow the head! Well, it is gone at last, the palace of music I reared; Gone! and the good tears start, the praises that come too slow; For one is assured at first, one scarce can say that he feared, That he even gave it a thought, the gone thing was to go. 60 Never to be again! But many more of the kind As good, nay, better perchance: is this your comfort to me? To me, who must be saved because I cling with my mind To the same, same self, same love, same God: ay, what was, shall be. Therefore to whom turn I but to Thee, the ineffable Name? Builder and maker, Thou, of houses not made with hands! What, have fear of change from Thee who art ever the same? Doubt that Thy power can fill the heart that Thy power expands? There shall never be one lost good! What was, shall live as before; The evil is null, is naught, is silence implying sound; 70 What was good, shall be good, with, for evil, so much good more; On the earth the broken arcs; in the heaven, a perfect round.