Here The Flame That Was Ash, Shrine That Was Void, Lost In The Haunted Wood, I Have Tended And Loved, Year Upon Year, I In The Solitude Waiting, Quiet And Glad-Eyed In The Dark, Knowing That Once A Gleam Glowed And Went Through The Wood. Still I Abode Strong In A Golden Dream, Unrecaptured. For I, I That Had Faith, Knew That A Face Would Glance One Day, White In The Dim Woods, And A Voice Call, And A Radiance Fill The Grove, And The Fire Suddenly Leap . . . And, In The Heart Of It, End Of Labouring, You! Therefore I Kept Ready The Altar, Lit The Flame, Burning Apart. Face Of My Dreams Vainly In Vision White Gleaming Down To Me, Lo! Hopeless I Rise Now. For About Midnight Whispers Grew Through The Wood Suddenly, Strange Cries In The Boughs Above Grated, Cries Like A Laugh. Silent And Black Then Through The Sacred Grove Great Birds Flew, As A Dream, Troubling The Leaves, Passing At Length. I Knew Long Expected And Long Loved, That Afar, God Of The Dim Wood, You Somewhere Lay, As A Child Sleeping, A Child Suddenly Reft From Mirth, White And Wonderful Yet, White In Your Youth, Stretched Upon Foreign Earth, God, Immortal And Dead! Therefore I Go; Never To Rest, Or Win Peace, And Worship Of You More, And The Dumb Wood And The Shrine Therein.