“But when that hour my soul won strength For words whose silence wastes and kills, Dull raindrops smote us, and at length Thundered the heat within the hills. That eve I spoke those words again Beside the pelted window-pane; And there she hearkened what I said, With under-glances that surveyed The empty pastures blind with rain. * * * * * * “Last night at last I could have slept, And yet delayed my sleep till dawn, Still wandering. Then it was I wept: For unawares I came upon Those glades where once she walked with me. And as I stood there suddenly, All wan with traversing the night, Upon the desolate verge of light Yearned loud the iron-bosomed sea.” In “The Stream’s Secret” the verse assumes a still more lyrical rhythm, as the poet communes with the familiar waters concerning his lost love, and desires— “The wind-stirred robe of roseate grey And rose-crown of the hour that leads the day When we shall meet once more,” . . . . . . “As on the unmeasured height of Love’s control The lustral fires are lit.” The flow of the monologue gleams with such images as these: “And on the waste uncoloured wold The visible burthen of the sun grown cold, And the moon’s labouring gaze;” or— “The soul hears the night’s disconsolate cry, And feels the branches, wringing wet, Cast on its brow, that may not once forget, Blind tears from the blind sky.”