I thought once how Theocritus had sung
Of the sweet years, the dear and wished-for
years,

Who each one in a gracious hand appears
To bear a gift for mortals, old or young:
And, as I mused it in his antique tongue,
I saw in gradual vision through my tears,
The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years,
Those of my own life, who by turns had flung
A shadow across me. Straightway I was
'ware,

So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move 10

The face of all the world is changed, I think,
Since first I heard the footsteps of thy soul
Move still, oh, still, beside me; as they stole
Betwixt me and the dreadful outer brink
Of obvious death, where I who thought to sink
Was caught up into love and taught the whole
Of life in a new rhythm. The cup of dole1
God gave for baptism, I am fain 2 to drink,
And praise its sweetness, Sweet, with thee

anear.

The name of country, heaven, are changed away

For where thou art or shalt be, there or here; And this this lute and song - loved yesterday,

I 2

(The singing angels know) are only dear, Because thy name moves right in what they

say.

XIV

If thou must love me, let it be for nought
Except for love's sake only. Do not say,
"I love her for her smile-her look-her way
Of speaking gently, for a trick of thought
That falls in well with mine, and certes brought
A sense of pleasant ease on such a day;"
For these things in themselves, Beloved, may
Be changed, or change for thee, - and love so
wrought,

May be unwrought so. Neither love me for Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry: A creature might forget to weep, who bore II Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby. But love me for love's sake, that evermore Thou may'st love on through love's eternity.

In a serene air purely. Antidotes Of medicated music, answering for

Mankind's forlornest uses, thou canst pour From thence into their ears.

devotes

Said, "Dear, I love thee"; and I sank and

quailed

paled

- and so its ink has

XLIII

height

snow.

For, all day, we drag our burden tiring,

Through the coal-dark, underground; Or, all day, we drive the wheels of iron

In the factories, round and round.

80

And the walls turn in their places: Turns the sky in the high window, blank and reeling,

Turns the long light that drops adown the wall,

Turn the black flies that crawl along the ceiling:

All are turning, all the day, and we with
all.

And all day the iron wheels are droning:
And sometimes we could pray,

'O ye wheels,' (breaking out in a mad moaning)

'Stop! be silent for to-day!""

Ay, be silent! Let them hear each other breathing

90

For a moment, mouth to mouth! Let them touch each other's hands, in a fresh wreathing

Of their tender human youth! Let them feel that this cold metallic motion Is not all the life God fashions or reveals:

Let them prove their living souls against the notion

That they live in you, or under you, O
wheels!

Still, all day, the iron wheels go onward,
Grinding life down from its mark;
And the children's souls, which God is calling
sunward,

Spin on blindly in the dark.

100

Now tell the poor young children, O my brothers,

To look up to Him and pray;

So the blessed One who blesseth all the others,

Will bless them another day.

Pass by, hearing not, or answer not a word.

And we hear not (for the wheels in their resounding)

110

Strangers speaking at the door: Is it likely God, with angels singing round Him, Hears our weeping any more?

"Two words, indeed, of praying we remember; And at midnight's hour of harm, 'Our Father,' looking upward in the chamber, We say softly for a charm.

We know no other words, except 'Our Father,' And we think that, in some pause of angels' song,

God may pluck them with the silence sweet to gather,

And hold both within His right hand which is strong.

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'Our Father!' If He heard us, He would surely

(For they call Him good and mild) Answer, smiling down the steep world very purely,

'Come and rest with me, my child.'

"But no!" say the children, weeping faster, "He is speechless as a stone: And they tell us, of His image is the master Who commands us to work on. Go to!" say the children, - "Up in Heaven. Dark, wheel-like, turning clouds are all

we find :

130

us blind."

loving,

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