But for that other, while she stood appeased For cruel parting past, locked in mine arms, I had been glad, expecting a good end. The cramped pale fellow prisoner; 'Courage' cried. Then Delia lifting her fair face, the moon Did show me its incomparable calms. Her effluent thought needed no word of mine, It whelmed my soul as in a sea of tears. The warm enchantment leaning on my breast Breathed as in air remote, and I was left To infinite detachment, even with hers To take cold kisses from the lips of doom, Look in those eyes and disinherit hope From that high place late won. Then murmuring low That other spake of Him on the cross, and soft As broken-hearted mourning of the dove, She 'One deep calleth to another' sighed. 'The heart of Christ mourns to my heart, "Endure. There was a day when to the wilderness My great forerunner from his thrall sent forth Sad messengers, demanding _Art thou He_? Think'st thou I knew no pang in that strange hour? How could I hold the power, and want the will Or want the love? That pang was his--and mine. He said not, Save me an thou be the Son, But only _Art thou He_? In my great way It was not writ,--legions of Angels mine, There was one Angel, one ordain'd to unlock At my behest the doomed deadly door. I could not tell him, tell not thee, why." Lord, We know not why, but would not have Thee grieve, Think not so deeply on 't; make us endure For thy blest sake, hearing thy sweet voice mourn "I will go forth, thy desolations meet, And with my desolations solace them. I will not break thy bonds but I am bound, With thee."' I feared. That speech deep furrows cut In my afflicted soul. I whisper'd low, 'Thou wilt not heed her words, my golden girl.' But Delia said not ought; only her hand Laid on my cheek and on the other leaned Her own. O there was comfort, father, In love and nearness, e'en at the crack of doom.