Dumb to the dancing and the marching feet; you know, in dreams, you see Old pipers playing that you cannot hear, And ghostly drums that only seem to beat. This seems to climb: Is it the music of a larger place? It makes our room too small: it is like a stair, A calling stair that climbs up to a smile you scarcely see, Dim, but so waited for; and _you_ know what a smile is, how it calls, How if I smiled you always ran to me. Now you must sleep forgetfully, as children do. There is a Spirit sits by us in sleep Nearer than those who walk with us in the bright day. I think he has a tranquil, saving face: I think he came Straight from the hills: he may have suffered there in time gone by, And once, from those forsaken heights, looked down, Lonely himself, on all the lonely sorrows of the earth. It is his kingdom--Sleep. If I could leave you there-- If, without waking you, I could get up and reach the door--! We used to go together.--Shut, scared eyes, Poor, desolate, desperate hands, it is not I Who thrust you off. No, take your hands away-- I cannot strike your lonely hands. Yes, I have struck your heart, It did not come so near. Then lie you there Dear and wild heart behind this quivering snow With two red stains on it: and I will strike and tear Mine out, and scatter it to yours. Oh! throbbing dust, You that were life, our little wind-blown hearts! The road! the road! There is a shadow there: I see my soul, I hear my soul, singing among the trees! MADELEINE IN CHURCH Here, in the darkness, where this plaster saint Stands nearer than God stands to our distress, And one small candle shines, but not so faint As the far lights of everlastingness I’d rather kneel than over there, in open day Where Christ is hanging, rather pray To something more like my own clay, Not too divine; For, once, perhaps my little saint Before he got his niche and crown, Had one short stroll about the town; It brings him closer, just that taint And anyone can wash the paint Off our poor faces, his and mine!