_Par._ Cruel! I seek her now--I kneel--I shriek-- I clasp her vesture--but she fades, still fades; And she is gone; sweet human love is gone! 'T is only when they spring to heaven that angels Reveal themselves to you; they sit all day Beside you, and lie down at night by you Who care not for their presence, muse or sleep, And all at once they leave you, and you know them! We are so fooled, so cheated! Why, even now I am not too secure against foul play; The shadows deepen and the walls contract: No doubt some treachery is going on. 'T is very dusk. Where are we put, Aprile? Have they left us in the lurch? This murky loathsome Death-trap, this slaughter-house, is not the hall In the golden city! Keep by me, Aprile! There is a hand groping amid the blackness To catch us. Have the spider-fingers got you, Poet? Hold on me for your life! If once They pull you!--Hold! 'T is but a dream--no more! I have you still; the sun comes out again; Let us be happy: all will yet go well! Let us confer: is it not like, Aprile, That spite of trouble, this ordeal passed, The value of my labors ascertained, Just as some stream foams long among the rocks But after glideth glassy to the sea, So, full content shall henceforth be my lot? What think you, poet? Louder! Your clear voice Vibrates too like a harp-string. Do you ask How could I still remain on earth, should God Grant me the great approval which I seek? I, you, and God can comprehend each other, But men would murmur, and with cause enough; For when they saw me, stainless of all sin, Preserved and sanctified by inward light, They would complain that comfort, shut from them, I drank thus unespied; that they live on, Nor taste the quiet of a constant joy, For ache and care and doubt and weariness, While I am calm; help being vouchsafed to me, And hid from them.--'T were best consider that! You reason well, Aprile; but at least Let me know this, and die! Is this too much? I will learn this, if God so please, and die! If thou shalt please, dear God, if thou shalt please! We are so weak, we know our motives least In their confused beginning. If at first I sought ... but wherefore bare my heart to thee? I know thy mercy; and already thoughts Flock fast about my soul to comfort it, And intimate I cannot wholly fail, For love and praise would clasp me willingly Could I resolve to seek them. Thou art good, And I should be content. Yet--yet first show I have done wrong in daring! Rather give The supernatural consciousness of strength Which fed my youth! Only one hour of that, With thee to help--O what should bar me then!