Surely I know thy hoary dawns, The silver crisp on all thy lawns, The softly swirling undersong That rocks thy reeds the winter long. Surely I know the joys that ring Through the green deeps of leafy spring; I know the elfin cups and domes That are their small and secret homes. Yet is the light for ever lost That daily once thy meadows crossed, The voice no more by thee is heard That matched the song of stream and bird. Call me no more!--thy waters roll Here, in the world that is my soul, And here, though Earth be drowned in night, Old love shall dwell with old delight. {145} _On the Death of a Noble Lady_ Time, when thou shalt bring again Pallas from the Trojan plain, Portia from the Roman's hall, Brynhild from the fiery wall, Eleanor, whose fearless breath Drew the venom'd fangs of Death, And Philippa doubly brave Or to conquer or to save-- When thou shalt on one bestow All their grace and all their glow, All their strength and all their state, All their passion pure and great, Some far age may honour then Such another queen of men. {146} _Midway_ Turn back, my Soul, no longer set Thy peace upon the years to come Turn back, the land of thy regret Holds nothing doubtful, nothing dumb. There are the voices, there the scenes That make thy life in living truth A tale of heroes and of queens, Fairer than all the hopes of youth. {147} _Ad Matrem Dolorosam_ Think not thy little fountain's rain That in the sunlight rose and flashed, From the bright sky has fallen again, To cold and shadowy silence dashed. The Joy that in her radiance leapt From everlasting hath not slept. The hand that to thy hand was dear, The untroubled eyes that mirrored thine, The voice that gave thy soul to hear A whisper of the Love Divine-- What though the gold was mixed with dust? The gold is thine and cannot rust. Nor fear, because thy darling's heart No longer beats with mortal life, That she has missed the ennobling part Of human growth and human strife. Only she has the eternal peace Wherein to reap the soul's increase. {148} _Vrais Amants_ (FOURTEENTH CENTURY) "Time mocks thy opening music with a close; What now he gives long since he gave away. Thou deemst thy sun hath risen, but ere it rose It was eclipsed, and dusk shall be thy day." Yet has the Dawn gone up: in loveliest light She walks high heaven beyond the shadow there: Whom I too veiled from all men's envious sight With inward eyes adore and silent prayer. {149} _The Sangreal_ Once, when beside me in that sacred place I saw my lady lift her lovely head, And saw the Chalice gleam above her face And her dear lips with life immortal red, Then, born again beyond the mist of years, I knelt in Heaven, and drank the wine of tears. {150} _Sir Hugh the Palmer_ I