I listened in hell! I listened in hell! Down in the dark I heard your soul Singing mine out to the holy sun. Deep in the dark I heard your feet Ringing the way of Love in hell. Into the flame you strode and stood. Out of the flame you bore me well, As I listened in hell. IV. I listen in hell! I listen in hell! Who trod the fire? Where was the scorch? Clutched, clasped, and saved, what a tale was to tell ----Heaven come down to hell! Oh, like a spirit you strove for my sake! Oh, like a man you looked back for your own! Back, though you loved me heavenly well, Back, though you lost me. The gods did decree, And I listen in hell. ELAINE AND ELAINE. I. Dead, she drifted to his feet. Tell us, Love, is Death so sweet? Oh! the river floweth deep. Fathoms deeper is her sleep. Oh! the current driveth strong. Wilder tides drive souls along. Drifting, though he loved her not, To the heart of Launcelot, Let her pass; it is her place. Death hath given her this grace. Let her pass; she resteth well. What her dreams are, who can tell? Mute the steersman; why, if he Speaketh not a word, should we? II. Dead, she drifteth to his feet. Close, her eyes keep secrets sweet. Living, he had loved her well. High as Heaven and deep as Hell. Yet that voyage she stayeth not. Wait you for her, Launcelot? Oh! the river floweth fast. Who is justified at last? Locked her lips are. Hush! If she Sayeth nothing, how should we? III. THE POET AND THE POEM. Upon the city called the Friends' The light of waking spring Fell vivid as the shadow thrown Far from the gleaming wing Of a great golden bird, that fled Before us loitering. In hours before the spring, how light The pulse of heaviest feet! And quick the slowest hopes to stir To measures fine and fleet. And warm will grow the bitterest heart To shelter fancies sweet. Securely looks the city down On her own fret and toil; She hides a heart of perfect peace Behind her veins' turmoil-- A breathing-space removed apart From out their stir and soil. Our reverent feet that golden day Stood in a quiet place, That held repressed--I know not what Of such a poignant grace As falls, if dumb with life untold, Upon a human face. To fashion silence into words The softest, teach me how! I know the place is Silence caught A-dreaming, then and now. I only know 't was blue above, And it was green below. And where the deepening sunshine found And held a holy mood, Lowly and old, of outline quaint, In mingled brick and wood, Clasped in the arms of ivy vines A nestling cottage stood: A thing so hidden and so fair, So pure that it would seem Hewn out of nothing earthlier Than a young poet's dream, Of nothing sadder than the lights That through the ivies gleam.