I breathed, methought, some everlasting spring: I passed, methought, in endless, aimless quest (A dew‐drop hanging on an eagle’s wing) Through some rich heaven and ever‐deepening West. That dream had end. Once more I saw her face: No love it looked: the sweet lips breathed no sound: Then fell I, stone‐like, through the fields of space, And lay, dead bulk, upon the bleeding ground. IX. River that windest in thy jewell’d bed, The palms of her soft feet beside thee move: But gentleness and peace are round thee spread, And therefore I am gone from what I love. Nightly on thee the stars thou lov’st shall gaze: Thee and thy heaven no envious cloud can sever: In vain to her I love mine eyes I raise; And therefore, happy stream, farewell for ever! Pale passion slays or dies. I would die young, Live while I live; then sink without a sigh, As some swift wave, from central ocean sprung, Subsides into the flat tranquillity. X. O heart whereon her Name was graved so long! Heart pressed at last to hers, henceforth be snow! For love’s sake let me do to love no wrong: There are who watch her. To the wars I go. There are that watch her: and in fields far off There are that wait my banner, name my name; My House was ne’er the upstart Moslem’s scoff: Its orphaned heir his fathers will not shame. This is the grove where, by yon meeting streams, She too her love confessed—how falteringly! From that glad hour a Church to me it seems: I leave it: I must leave it though I die. Here as I slept, an Angel, not to sense Revealed, above me traced the sacred sign: “Here is Love’s palace: Duty calls thee hence: Alone where Duty stands are Church and Shrine.” F. Louage’s Philosophy.(82)