But to continue the analysis of the poem. To the maiden in bliss it appears that she has been a singer in God’s choir for only one day; to him who is left behind this one day has been actually a matter of ten years. ‘To one it is ten years of years.’ This computation is thoroughly mystical. It means, that is, absolutely nothing. Perhaps Rossetti imagined that there may exist a higher unity to which the single year may stand as one day does to a year; that therefore 365 years would constitute a sort of higher order of year. The words ‘year of years’ therefore signified 365 years. But as Rossetti portrays this thought vaguely and imperfectly, he is far from expressing it as intelligibly as this. ‘It was the rampart of God’s house That she was standing on; By God built over the sheer depth The which is space begun; So high that, looking downward, thence She scarce could see the sun. ‘It lies in heaven, across the flood Of ether, as a bridge. Beneath, the tides of day and night With flame and darkness ridge The void, as low as where this earth Spins like a fretful midge. ‘Heard hardly, some of her new friends, Amid their loving games, Spake evermore among themselves Their virginal chaste names, And the souls mounting up to God Went by her like thin flames. ‘From the fixed place of Heaven she saw Time like a pulse shake fierce Through all the worlds....’ I leave it to the reader to imagine all the details of this description and unite them into one complete picture. If he fail in this in spite of honest exertion, let him comfort himself by saying that the fault is not his, but Rossetti’s. The damozel begins to speak. She wishes that her beloved were already with her. For come he will. ‘“When round his head the aureole clings, And he is clothed in white, I’ll take his hand and go with him To the deep wells of light. We will step down as to a stream. And bathe there in God’s sight.”’ It is to be observed how, in the midst of the turgid stream of these transcendental senseless modes of speech, the idea of bathing together takes a definite shape. Mystical reverie never fails to be accompanied by sensuality. ‘“We two,” she said, “will seek the groves Where the Lady Mary is, With her five handmaidens, whose names Are five sweet symphonies-- Cecily, Gertrude, Magdalen, Margaret, and Rosalys.”’