And then, ah then, the heart of heaven was hushed, And--in the hush--it seemed an angel wept, Another Mary wept, and gathering up All our poor wounded, weary, way-worn world, Even as a Mother gathers up her babe, Soothed it against her breast, and rained her tears On the pierced feet of God, and melted Him To pity, and over His feet poured her deep hair. The music died away. The shadows knelt. And then--I heard a rustling nigh the tomb, And heard--and heard--or dreamed I heard--farewells, Farewells for everlasting, deep farewells, Bitter as blood, darker than any death. And, at the last, as in a kiss, one breath, One agony of sweetness, like a sword For sharpness, drawn along a soft white throat; And, for its terrible sweetness, like a sigh Across great waters, very far away,-- _Sweetheart!_ And then, like doors, like world-without-end doors That shut for Everlasting, came a clang, And ringing, echoing, through the echo of it, One terrible cry that plucked my heart-strings out, _Mary!_ And on the closed and silent tomb, Where there were two, one shuddering shadow lay, And then--I, too,--reeled, swooned and knew no more. Sirs, when I woke, there was a broad bright shaft Of moonlight, slanting through an Eastern pane Full on her tomb and that black Catafalque. And on the tomb there lay--my bunch of keys! I struggled to my feet, Ashamed of my wild fancies, like a man Awakening from a drunken dream. And yet, When I picked up the keys, although that storm Of terror had all blown by and left me calm, I lifted up mine eyes to see the scroll Round the rich crest of that dark canopy, IN MY DEFENCE, GOD ME DEFEND. The moon Struck full upon it; and, as I turned and went, God help me, sirs, though I were loyal enough To good Queen Bess, I could not help but say, _Amen!_ And yet, methought it was not I that spake, But some deep soul that used me for a mask, A soul that rose up in this hollow shell Like dark sea-tides flooding an empty cave. I could not help but say with my poor lips, _Amen! Amen!_ Sirs, 'tis a terrible thing To move in great events. Since that strange night I have not been as other men. The tides Would rise in this dark cave"--he tapped his skull-- "Deep tides, I know not whence; and when they rose My friends looked strangely upon me and stood aloof. And once, my uncle said to me--indeed, It troubled me strangely,--'Timothy,' he said, 'Thou art translated! I could well believe Thou art two men, whereof the one's a fool, The other a prophet. Or else, beneath thy skin There lurks a changeling! What hath come to thee?' And then, sirs, then--well I remember it! 'Twas on a summer eve, and we walked home Between high ghostly hedges white with may--