"Say not thine help I have been slow to seek; Here have I been from the first hour of morn, Who stand before thy presence faint and weak, Of my one poor delight left all forlorn; Trembling with many fears, the hope outworn I had when first I left my love, my shame, To call upon thine oft-sung glorious name." He stopped to catch his breath, for as a sob Did each word leave his mouth; but suddenly, Like a live thing, the thin flame 'gan to throb And gather force, and then shot up on high A steady spike of light, that drew anigh The sunbeam in the dome, then sank once more Into a feeble flicker as before. But at that sight the nameless hope he had That kept him living midst unhappiness, Stirred in his breast, and with changed face and glad Unto the image forward must he press With words of praise his first word to redress, But then it was as though a thick black cloud Altar, and fire, and ivory limbs did shroud. He staggered back, amazed and full of awe, But when, with anxious eyes, he gazed around, About him still the worshippers he saw Sunk in their wonted works, with no surprise At what to him seemed awful mysteries; Therewith he sighed and said, "This, too, I dream, No better day upon my life shall beam." And yet for long upon the place he gazed Where other folk beheld the lovely Queen; And while he looked the dusky veil seemed raised, And every thing was as it erst had been; And then he said, "Such marvels I have seen As some sick man may see from off his bed: Ah, I am sick, and would that I were dead!" Therewith, not questioning his heart at all, He turned away and left the holy place, When now the wide sun reddened towards his fall, And a fresh west wind held the clouds in chase; But coming out, at first he hid his face Dazed with the light, and in the porch he stood, Nor wished to move, or change his dreary mood. Yet in a while the freshness of the eve Pierced to his weary heart, and with a sigh He raised his head, and slowly 'gan to leave The high carved pillars; and so presently Had passed the grove of whispering myrtles by, And, mid the many noises of the street, Made himself brave the eyes of men to meet. Thronged were the ways with folk in gay attire, Nursing the end of that festivity; Girls fit to move the moody man's desire Brushed past him, and soft dainty minstrelsy He heard amid the laughter, and might see, Through open doors, the garden's green delight, Where pensive lovers waited for the night; Or resting dancers round the fountain drawn, With faces flushed unto the breeze turned round, Or wandering o'er the fragrant trodden lawn, Took up their fallen garlands from the ground, Or languidly their scattered tresses bound, Or let their gathered raiment fall adown, With eyes downcast beneath their lovers' frown.