Her beauty smoothed earth’s furrowed face! She gave me tokens three:— A look, a word of her winsome mouth, And a wild raspberry. A berry red, a guileless look, A still word,—strings of sand! And yet they made my wild, wild heart Fly down to her little hand. For standing artless as the air, And candid as the skies, She took the berries with her hand, And the love with her sweet eyes. The fairest things have fleetest end: Their scent survives their close, But the rose’s scent is bitterness To him that loved the rose! She looked a little wistfully, Then went her sunshine way:— The sea’s eye had a mist on it, And the leaves fell from the day. She went her unremembering way, She went and left in me The pang of all the partings gone, And partings yet to be. She left me marvelling why my soul Was sad that she was glad; At all the sadness in the sweet, The sweetness in the sad. Still, still I seemed to see her, still Look up with soft replies, And take the berries with her hand, And the love with her lovely eyes. Nothing begins, and nothing ends, That is not paid with moan; For we are born in other’s pain, And perish in our own. THE MAKING OF VIOLA. I. _The Father of Heaven_. Spin, daughter Mary, spin, Twirl your wheel with silver din; Spin, daughter Mary, spin, Spin a tress for Viola. _Angels_. Spin, Queen Mary, a Brown tress for Viola! II. _The Father of Heaven_. Weave, hands angelical, Weave a woof of flesh to pall— Weave, hands angelical— Flesh to pall our Viola. _Angels_. Weave, singing brothers, a Velvet flesh for Viola! III. _The Father of Heaven_. Scoop, young Jesus, for her eyes, Wood-browned pools of Paradise— Young Jesus, for the eyes, For the eyes of Viola. _Angels_. Tint, Prince Jesus, a Duskèd eye for Viola! IV. _The Father of Heaven_. Cast a star therein to drown, Like a torch in cavern brown, Sink a burning star to drown Whelmed in eyes of Viola. _Angels_. Lave, Prince Jesus, a Star in eyes of Viola! V. _The Father of Heaven_. Breathe, Lord Paraclete, To a bubbled crystal meet— Breathe, Lord Paraclete— Crystal soul for Viola. _Angels_. Breathe, Regal Spirit, a Flashing soul for Viola! VI. _The Father of Heaven_. Child-angels, from your wings Fall the roseal hoverings, Child-angels, from your wings, On the cheeks of Viola. _Angels_. Linger, rosy reflex, a Quenchless stain, on Viola! _All things being accomplished_, _saith the Father of Heaven_.