But, while the words were uttered, in his heart There dawned a vague alarm. He was aware That somewhat touched him, and he lifted up His face. "I am alone," the curate said,-- "I think I am alone. What is it, then? I am ashamed! My raiment is not clean. My lips,--I am afraid they are not clean. My heart is darkened and unclean. Ah me, To be a man, and yet to tremble so! Strange, strange!" And there was sitting at his feet-- He could not see it plainly--at his feet A very little child. And, while the blood Drave to his heart, he set his eye on it, Gazing, and, lo! the loveliness from heaven Took clearer form and color. He beheld The strange, wise sweetness of a dimpled mouth,-- The deep serene of eyes at home with bliss, And perfect in possession. So it spoke, "My master!" but he answered not a word; And it went on: "I had a name, a name. He knew my name; but here they can forget." The curate answered: "Nay, I know thee well. I love thee. Wherefore art thou come?" It said, "They sent me;" and he faltered, "Fold thy hand, O most dear little one! for on it gleams A gem that is so bright I cannot look Thereon." It said, "When I did leave this world, That was a tear. But that was long ago; For I have lived among the happy folk, You wot of, ages, ages." Then said he, "Do they forget us, while beneath the palms They take their infinite leisure?" And, with eyes That seemed to muse upon him, looking up In peace the little child made answer, "Nay;" And murmured, in the language that he loved, "How is it that his hair is not yet white; For I and all the others have been long Waiting for him to come." "And was it long?" The curate answered, pondering. "Time being done, Shall life indeed expand, and give the sense, In our to-come, of infinite extension?" Then said the child, "In heaven we children talk Of the great matters, and our lips are wise; But here I can but talk with thee in words That here I knew." And therewithal, arisen, It said, "I pray you take me in your arms." Then, being afraid but willing, so he did; And partly drew about the radiant child, For better covering its dread purity, The foldings of his gown. And he beheld Its beauty, and the tremulous woven light That hung upon its hair; withal, the robe, "Whiter than fuller of this world can white," That clothed its immortality. And so The trembling came again, and he was dumb, Repenting his uncleanness: and he lift His eyes, and all the holy place was full Of living things; and some were faint and dim, As if they bore an intermittent life, Waxing and waning; and they had no form, But drifted on like slowly trailèd clouds, Or moving spots of darkness, with an eye Apiece. And some, in guise of evil birds, Came by in troops, and stretched their naked necks, And some were men-like, but their heads hung down; And he said, "O my God! let me find grace Not to behold their faces, for I know They must be wicked and right terrible."