The wonder was not yet quite gone

From that still look of hers;

Albeit, to them she left, her day
Had counted as ten years.

(To one, it is ten years of years.

Yet now, and in this place,

Surely she leaned o'er me- -her hair

Fell all about my face.

Nothing: the autumn-fall of leaves.
The whole year sets apace.)

It was the rampart of God's house
That she was standing on;

By God built over the sheer depth
The which is Space begun ;

So high, that looking downward thence
She scarce could see the sun.

It lies in Heaven, across the flood
Of ether, as a bridge.

Beneath, the tides of day and night

With flame and darkness ridge

The void, as low as where this earth

Spins like a fretful midge.

Around her, lovers, newly met

'Mid deathless love's acclaims,

Spoke evermore among themselves
Their heart-remembered names;
And the souls mounting up to God
Went by her like thin flames.

And still she bowed herself and stooped
Out of the circling charm;

Until her bosom must have made

The bar she leaned on warm,

And the lilies lay as if asleep

Along her bended arm.

From the fixed place of Heaven she saw
Time like a pulse shake fierce

Through all the worlds. Her gaze still strove

Within the gulf to pierce

Its path; and now she spoke as when

The stars sang in their spheres.

The sun was gone now; the curled moon

Was like a little feather

Fluttering far down the gulf; and now

She spoke through the still weather.

Her voice was like the voice the stars

Had when they sang together.

(Ah sweet! Even now, in that bird's song,

Strove not her accents there,

Fain to be hearkened?

When those bells

Possessed the mid-day air,

Strove not her steps to reach my side
Down all the echoing stair?)

'I wish that he were come to me,

For he will come,' she said.

'Have I not prayed in Heaven?—on earth, Lord, Lord, has he not pray'd?

Are not two prayers a perfect strength?

And shall I feel afraid?

'When round his head the aureole clings,

And he is clothed in white,

I'll take his hand and go with him

To the deep wells of light;

As unto a stream we will step down,
And bathe there in God's sight.

'We two will stand beside that shrine, Occult, withheld, untrod,

Whose lamps are stirred continually

With prayer sent up to God;

And see our old prayers, granted, melt

Each like a little cloud.

'We two will lie i' the shadow of

That living mystic tree

Within whose secret growth the Dove

Is sometimes felt to be,

While

every leaf that His plumes touch

Saith His Name audibly.

'And I myself will teach to him,

I myself, lying so,

The songs I sing here; which his voice.
Shall pause in, hushed and slow,
And find some knowledge at each pause,
Or some new thing to know.'

(Alas! We two, we two, thou say'st!

Yea, one wast thou with me

That once of old. But shall God lift

To endless unity

The soul whose likeness with thy soul

Was but its love for thee?)

'We two,' she said, 'will seek the groves

Where the lady Mary is,

With her five handmaidens, whose names

Are five sweet symphonies,

Cecily, Gertrude, Magdalen,

Margaret and Rosalys.

'Circlewise sit they, with bound locks And foreheads garlanded;

Into the fine cloth white like flame

Weaving the golden thread,

To fashion the birth-robes for them
Who are just born, being dead.

‘He shall fear, haply, and be dumb: Then will I lay my cheek

To his, and tell about our love,

Not once abashed or weak:
And the dear Mother will approve
My pride, and let me speak.

'Herself shall bring us, hand in hand,

To him round whom all souls

Kneel, the clear-ranged unnumbered heads

Bowed with their aureoles: