And yet my soul sings "Up!" and we are one. Yea thou, and Thou, and THOU, and all my kin To whom my breast and arms are ever warm, For that I love ye as the wind the trees That holds their blossoms and their leaves in cure And calls the utmost singing from the boughs That 'thout him, save the aspen, were as dumb Still shade, and bade no whisper speak the birds of how "Beyond, beyond, beyond, there lies...." Guillaume de Lorris Belated A Vision of Italy Wisdom set apart from all desire, A hoary Nestor with youth's own glad eyes, Him met I at the style, and all benign He greeted me an equal and I knew, By this his lack of pomp, he was himself. Slow-Smiling is companion unto him, And Mellow-Laughter serves, his trencherman. And I a thousand beauties there beheld. And he and they made merry endlessly. And love was rayed between them as a mist, And yet so fine and delicate a haze It did impede the eyes no whit, Unless it were to make the halo round each one Appear more myriad-jewelled marvellous, Than any pearled and ruby diadem the courts o' earth ha' known. Slender as mist-wrought maids and hamadryads Did meseem these shapes that ministered, These formed harmonies with lake-deep eyes, And first the cities of north Italy I did behold, Each as a woman wonder-fair, And svelte Verona first I met at eve; And in the dark we kissed and then the way Bore us somewhile apart. And yet my heart keeps tryst with her, So every year our thoughts are interwove As fingers were, such times as eyes see much, and tell. And she that loved the master years agone, That bears his signet in her "Signor Square," "Che lo glorifico."[9] She spread her arms, And in that deep embrace All thoughts of woe were perished And of pain and weariness and all the wrack Of light-contending thoughts and battled-gleams, (That our intelligence doth gain by strife against itself) Of things we have not yet the earnèd right to clearly see. And all, yea all that dust doth symbolize Was there forgot, and my enfranchised soul Grew as the liquid elements, and was infused With joy that is not light, nor might nor harmony, And yet hath part and quality of all these three, Whereto is added calm past earthly peace. Thus with Verona's spirit, and all time Swept on beyond my ken, and as the sea Hath in no wise a form within itself, _Cioè_, as liquid hath no form save where it bounden is By some enshrouding chalice of hard things-- As wine its graven goblet, and the sea Its wave-hewn basalt for a bordering, So had my thought and now my thought's remembrance No "_in_formation" of whatso there passed For this long space the dream-king's horny gate.