Then Mustard-seed with diamond eyes Taught us to be laughter-wise, And he showed us how that Time Is much less powerful than a rhyme; And that Space is but a dream; “For look,” he said, with eyes agleam, “Now you are become so small You think the Thyme a forest tall; But underneath your feet you see A world of wilder mystery Where, if you were smaller yet, You would just as soon forget This forest, which you’d leave above As you have left the home you love! For, since the Thyme you used to know Seems a forest here below, What if you should sink again And find there stretched a mighty plain Between each grass-blade and the next? You’d think till you were quite perplexed! Especially if all the flowers That lit the sweet Thyme-forest bowers Were in that wild transcendent change Turned to Temples, great and strange, With many a pillared portal high And domes that swelled against the sky! How foolish, then, you will agree, Are those who think that all must see The world alike, or those who scorn Another who, perchance, was born Where--in a different dream from theirs-- What they call sins to him are prayers! We cannot judge; we cannot know; All things mingle; all things flow; There’s only one thing constant here-- Love--that untranscended sphere: Love, that while all ages run Holds the wheeling worlds in one; Love that, as your sages tell, Soars to heaven and sinks to hell.” Even as he spoke, we seemed to grow Smaller, the Thyme trees seemed to go Farther away from us: new dreams Flashed out on us with mystic gleams Of mighty Temple-domes: deep awe Held us all breathless as we saw A carven portal glimmering out Between new flowers that put to rout Our other fancies: in sweet fear We tiptoed past, and seemed to hear A sound of singing from within That told our souls of Peterkin: Our thoughts of _him_ were still the same Howe’er the shadows went and came! So, on we wandered, hand in hand, And all the world was fairy-land. * * * * * And as we went we seemed to hear Surging up from distant dells A solemn music, soft and clear As if a field of lily-bells Were tolling all together, sweet But sad and low and keeping time To multitudinous marching feet With a slow funereal beat And a deep harmonious chime That told us by its dark refrain The reason fairies suffered pain. SONG Bear her along Keep ye your song Tender and sweet and low: Fairies must die! Ask ye not why Ye that have hurt her so. _Passing away--flower from the spray! Colour and light from the leaf! Soon, soon will the year shed its bloom on her bier, and the dust of its dreams on our grief._