And, its touch withdrawn, the place Was silent, empty; all that swarming tribe Of evil ones concealed behind the veil, And shut into their separate world, were closed From his observance. He arose, and paced After the little child,--as half in fear That it would leave him,--till they reached a door; And then said he,--but much distraught he spoke, Laying his hand across the lock,--"This door Shuts in the stairs whereby men mount the tower. Wouldst thou go up, and so withdraw to heaven?" It answered, "I will mount them." Then said he, "And I will follow."--"So thou shalt do well," The radiant thing replied, and it went up, And he, amazed, went after; for the stairs, Otherwhile dark, were lightened by the rays Shed out of raiment woven in high heaven, And hair whereon had smiled the light of God. With that, they, pacing on, came out at last Into a dim, weird place,--a chamber formed Betwixt the roofs: for you shall know that all The vaulting of the nave, fretted and fine, Was covered with the dust of ages, laid Thick with those chips of stone which they had left Who wrought it; but a high-pitched roof was reared Above it, and the western gable pierced With three long narrow lights. Great tie-beams loomed Across, and many daws frequented there, The starling and the sparrow littered it With straw, and peeped from many a shady nook; And there was lifting up of wings, and there Was hasty exit when the curate came. But sitting on a beam and moving not For him, he saw two fair gray turtle-doves Bowing their heads, and cooing; and the child Put forth a hand to touch his own, but straight He, startled, drew it back, because, forsooth, A stirring fancy smote him, and he thought That language trembled on their innocent tongues, And floated forth in speech that man could hear. Then said the child, "Yet touch, my master dear." And he let down his hand, and touched again; And so it was. "But if they had their way," One turtle cooed, "how should this world go on?"