He comes, a fair ambassador, From white lands built with marble o'er. Where grows, in glades beside the sea, Upon the tree Of goodness, fragrant gentleness. That haven, too, he knows no less Where wondrous ships rock, calm and still. That freights of sleeping angels fill; And those vast evenings, when below Upon the water, 'mid the skies' Reflected eyes. Islands flash sudden forth and glow. That kingdom fair Whereof the Virgin ariseth Queen, Its lowly, ardent joy is he; And his flaming sword in the ambient air Vibrates like an ostensory-- The suddenly flashing St. George! behold, He strikes through my soul like a fire of gold! He knows from what far wanderings I come: what mists obscure my brain; What dagger marks have deeply scarred My thought, and with black crosses marred: With what spent force, what anger vain. What petty scorn of better things, --Yea, and with what a mask I came, Folly upon the lees of shame! A coward was I; the world I fled To hide my head Within a huge and futile Me; I builded, beneath domes of Night, The blocks of marble, gold be-starred, Of a hostile science, endlessly Towards a height By oracles of blackness barred. For Death alone is Queen of night. And human effort is brightest born Only at dawn. With opening flowers would prayer fain bloom, And their sweet lips hold the same perfume. The sunbeams shimmering white that fall On pearly water, are for all Like a caress Upon our life: the dawn unfolds A counsel fair of trustfulness; And whoso hearkens thereto is saved From his slough, where never a sin was laved. St. George in radiant armour came Speeding along in leaps of flame 'Mid the sweet morning, through my soul. Young, beautiful by faith was he; He leaned the lower down toward me Even as I the lowlier knelt; Like some pure, golden cordial In secret felt. He filled me with his soaring strength, And with sweet fear most tenderly. Before that vision's dignity, Into his pale, proud hand at length I cast the blood my pain had spent. Then, laying upon me as he went A charge of valour, and the sign Of the cross on my brow from his lance divine, He sped upon his shining road Straight, with my heart, towards his God. THE GARDENS The landscape now reveals a change; A stair--that twinèd elm-boughs hold Enclosed 'mid hedges mystic, strange-- Inaugurates a green and gold Vision of gardens, range on range. Each step's a hope, that doth ascend Stairwise to expectation's height; A weary way it is to wend While noonday suns are burning bright. But rest waits at the evening's end. Streams, that wash white from sin, flow deep, And round about the fresh lawns twine; While there, beneath the green banks steep, Beside his cross, the Lamb Divine Lies tranquilly in peaceful sleep. The daisied grass is glad, and gay With crystal butterflies the hedge. Where globes of fruit shine blue; here stray Peacocks beside the box-trees' edge: A shining lion bars the way.