Sunning thee with calm looks of Heaven's surprise, But thine alone on Him? Or else, self-willed, to tread the Godless place, (God keep thy will!) feel thine own energies Cold, strong, objèctless, like a dead man's clasp, The sleepless deathless life within thee grasp,-- While myriad faces, like one changeless face, With woe _not love's_, shall glass thee everywhere And overcome thee with thine own despair? X. More soft, less solemn images Drifted o'er the lady's heart Silently as snow. She had seen eight days depart Hour by hour, on bended knees, With pale-wrung hands and prayings low And broken, through which came the sound Of tears that fell against the ground, Making sad stops.--"Dear Lord, dear Lord!" She still had prayed, (the heavenly word Broken by an earthly sigh) --"Thou who didst not erst deny The mother-joy to Mary mild, Blessèd in the blessèd child Which hearkened in meek babyhood Her cradle-hymn, albeit used To all that music interfused In breasts of angels high and good! Oh, take not, Lord, my babe away-- Oh, take not to thy songful heaven The pretty baby thou hast given, Or ere that I have seen him play Around his father's knees and known That _he_ knew how my love has gone From all the world to him. Think, God among the cherubim, How I shall shiver every day In thy June sunshine, knowing where The grave-grass keeps it from his fair Still cheeks: and feel, at every tread, His little body, which is dead And hidden in thy turfy fold, Doth make thy whole warm earth a-cold! O God, I am so young, so young-- I am not used to tears at nights Instead of slumber--not to prayer With sobbing lips and hands out-wrung! Thou knowest all my prayings were 'I bless thee, God, for past delights-- Thank God!' I am not used to bear Hard thoughts of death; the earth doth cover No face from me of friend or lover: And must the first who teaches me The form of shrouds and funerals, be Mine own first-born belovèd? he Who taught me first this mother-love? Dear Lord who spreadest out above Thy loving, transpierced hands to meet All lifted hearts with blessing sweet,-- Pierce not my heart, my tender heart Thou madest tender! Thou who art So happy in thy heaven alway, Take not mine only bliss away!" XI. She so had prayed: and God, who hears Through seraph-songs the sound of tears From that belovèd babe had ta'en The fever and the beating pain. And more and more smiled Isobel To see the baby sleep so well, (She knew not that she smiled, I wis) Until the pleasant gradual thought Which near her heart the smile enwrought, Now soft and slow, itself did seem To float along a happy dream, Beyond it into speech like this. XII.