The dark and serious angel, who so long Vex'd his immortal strength in charge of me, Hath smiled for joy and fled in liberty To take his pastime with the peerless throng. Oft had I done his noble keeping wrong, Wounding his heart to wonder what might be God's purpose in a soul of such degree; And there he had left me but for mandate strong. But seeing thee with me now, his task at close He knoweth, and wherefore he was bid to stay, And work confusion of so many foes: The thanks that he doth look for, here I pay, Yet fear some heavenly envy, as he goes Unto what great reward I cannot say. 62 I will be what God made me, nor protest Against the bent of genius in my time, That science of my friends robs all the best, While I love beauty, and was born to rhyme. Be they our mighty men, and let me dwell In shadow among the mighty shades of old, With love's forsaken palace for my cell; Whence I look forth and all the world behold, And say, These better days, in best things worse, This bastardy of time's magnificence, Will mend in fashion and throw off the curse, To crown new love with higher excellence. Curs'd tho' I be to live my life alone, My toil is for man's joy, his joy my own. 63 I live on hope and that I think do all Who come into this world, and since I see Myself in swim with such good company, I take my comfort whatsoe'er befall. I abide and abide, as if more stout and tall My spirit would grow by waiting like a tree; And, clear of others' toil, it pleaseth me In dreams their quick ambition to forestall. And if thro' careless eagerness I slide To some accomplishment, I give my voice Still to desire, and in desire abide. I have no stake abroad; if I rejoice In what is done or doing, I confide Neither to friend nor foe my secret choice. 64 Ye blessed saints, that now in heaven enjoy The purchase of those tears, the world's disdain, Doth Love still with his war your peace annoy, Or hath Death freed you from his ancient pain? Have ye no springtide, and no burst of May In flowers and leafy trees, when solemn night Pants with love-music, and the holy day Breaks on the ear with songs of heavenly light? What make ye and what strive for? keep ye thought Of us, or in new excellence divine Is old forgot? or do ye count for nought What the Greek did and what the Florentine? We keep your memories well: O in your store Live not our best joys treasured evermore? 65