Ught, 'Let Me Be Thankful,' Quoth The Better Mind, Thankful For Her, Though Utterly To Nought She Brings My Heart'S Cry, And I Live To Find A New Self Of The Old Self Exigent In The Light Of My Divining Discontent. The Picture Of A Maiden Bidding 'Arise, I Am The Art Of God. He Shows By Me His Great Idea, So Well As Sin-Stained Eyes Love Aidant Can Behold It.' Is This She? Or Is It Mine Own Love For Her Supplies The Meaning And The Power? Howe'Er This Be, She Is The Interpreter By Whom Most Near Man'S Soul Is Drawn To Beauty And Pureness Here. The Sweet Idea, Invisible Hitherto, Is In Her Face, Unconscious Delegate; That Thing She Wots Not Of Ordained To Do: But Also It Shall Be Her Votary'S Fate, Through Her His Early Days Of Ease To Eschew, Struggle With Life And Prove Its Weary Weight. All The Great Storms That Rising Rend The Soul, Are Life In Little, Imaging The Whole. Ay, So As Life Is, Love Is, In Their Ken Stars, Infant Yet, Both Thought To Grasp, To Keep, Then Came The Morn Of Passionate Splendour, When So Sweet The Light, None But For Bliss Could Weep, And Then The Strife, The Toil; But We Are Men, Strong, Brave To Battle With The Stormy Deep; Then Fear - And Then Renunciation - Then Appeals Unto The Infinite Pity - And Sleep. But After Life The Sleep Is Long. Not So With Love. Love Buried Lieth Not Straight, Not Still, Love Starts, And After Lull Awakes To Know All The Deep Things Again. And Next His Will, That Dearest Pang Is, Never To Forego. He Would All Service, Hardship, Fret Fulfill. Unhappy Love! And I Of That Great Host Unhappy Love Who Cry, Unhappy Most. Because Renunciation Was So Short, The Starved Heart So Easily Awaked; A Dream Could Do It, A Bud, A Bird, A Thought, But I Betook Me With That Want Which Ached To Neighbour Lands Where Strangeness With Me Wrought. The Old Work Was So Hale, Its Fitness Slaked Soul-Thirst For Truth. 'I Knew Not Doubt Nor Fear,' Its Language, 'War Or Worship, Sure Sincere.' Then Where By Art The High Did Best Translate Life'S Infinite Pathos To The Soul, Set Down Beauty And Mystery, That Imperious Hate On Its Best Braveness Doth And Sainthood Frown, Nay More The Master'S Manifest Pity - 'Wait, Behold The Palmgrove And The Promised Crown. He Suffers With Thee, For Thee. - Lo The Child! Comfort Thy Heart; He Certainly So Smiled.' Thus Love And I Wore Through The Winter Time. Then Saw Her Demon Blush Vesuvius Try, Then Evil Ghosts White From The Awful Prime, Thrust Up Sharp Peaks To Tear The Tender Sky. 'No More To Do But Hear That English Chime' I To A Kinsman Wrote. He Made Reply, 'As Home I Bring My Girl And Boy Full Soon, I Pass Through Evesham, - Meet Me There At Noon. 'The Bells Your Father Loved You Needs Must Hear, Seek Oxford Next With Me,' And Told The Day. 'Upon The Bridge I'll Meet You. What! How Dear Soever Was A Dream, Shall It Bear Sway To Mar The Waking?' I Set Forth, Drew Near, Beheld A Goodly Tower, Twin Churches Grey, Evesham. The Bridge, And Noon. I Nothing Knew What To My Heart That Fateful Chime Would Do. For Suddenly The Sweet Bells Overcame A World Unsouled; Did All With Man Endow; His Yearning Almost Tell That Passeth Name And Said They Were Full Old, And They Were Now And Should Be; And Their Sighing Upon The Same For Our Poor Sake That Pass They Did Avow, While On Clear Avon Flowed Like Man'S Short Day The Shining River Of Life Lapsing Away. The Stroke Of Noon. The Bell-Bird! Yes And No. Winds Of Remembrance Swept As Over The Foam Of Anti-Natal Shores. At Home Is It So, My Country Folk? Ay, 'Neath This Pale Blue Dome, Many Of You In The Moss Lie Low - Lie Low. Ah! Since I Have Not Her, Give Me Too, Home. A Footstep Near! I Turned; Past Likelihood, Past Hope, Before Me On The Bridge - She Stood. A Rosy Urchin Had Her Hand; This Cried, 'We Think You Are Our Cousin - Yes, You Are; I Said So To Estelle.' The Violet-Eyed, 'If This Be Geoffrey?' Asked; And As From Far A Doubt Came Floating Up; But She Denied Her Thought, Yet Blushed. O Beautiful! My Star! Then, With The Lifting Of My Hat, Each Wore That Look Which Owned To Each, 'We Have Met Before.' Then Was The Strangest Bliss In Life Made Mine; I Saw The Almost Worshipped - All Remote; The Star So High Above That Used To Shine, Translated From The Void Where It Did Float, And Brought Into Relation With The Fine Charities Earth Hath Grown. A Great Joy Smote Me Silent, And The Child Atween Us Tway, We Watched The Lucent River Stealing Away. While Her Deep Eyes Down On The Ripple Fell, Quoth The Small Imp, '"How Fast You Go And Go, You Avon. Does It Wish To Stop, Estelle, And Hear The Clock, And See The Orchards Blow? It Does Not Care! Not When The Old Big Bell Makes A Great Buzzing Noise? - Who Told You So?" And Then To Me, "I Like To Hear It Hum. Why Do You Think That Father Could Not Come?" Estelle Forgot Her Violin. And He, O Then He Said: "How Careless, Child, Of You; I Must Send On For It. 'T Would Pity Be If That Were Lost. I Want To Learn It Too; And When I'm Nine I Shall." Then Turning, She Let Her Sweet Eyes Unveil Them To My View; Her Stately Grace Outmatched My Dream Of Old, But Ah! The Smile Dull Memory Had Not Told. My Kinsman Next, With Care-Worn Kindly Brow. 'Well, Father,' Quoth The Imp, 'We've Done Our Part. We Found Him.' And She, Wholly Girlish Now, Laid Her Young Hand On His With Lovely Art And Sweet Excuses. O! I Made My Vow I Would All Dare, Such Life Did Warm My Heart; We Journeyed, All The Air With Scents Of Price Was Laden, And The Goal Was Paradise. When That The Moors Betook Them To Their Sand, Their Domination Over In Fair Spain, Each Locked, Men Say, His Door In That Loved Land, And Took The Key In Hope To Come Again. On Moorish Walls Yet Hung, Long Dust Each Hand, The Keys, But Not The Might To Use, Remain; Is There Such House In Some Blest Land For Me? I Can, I Will, I Do Reach Down The Key. A Country Conquered Oft, And Long Before, Of Generations Aye Ordained To Win; If Mine The Power, I Will Unlock The Door. Enter, O Light, I Bear A Sunbeam In. What, Did The Crescent Wane! Yet Man Is More, And Love Achieves Because To Heaven Akin. O Life! To Hear Again That Wandering Bell, And Hear It At Thy Feet, Estelle, Estelle. Full Oft I Want The Sacred Throated Bird, Over Our Limitless Waste Of Light Which Spoke The Spirit Of The Call My Fathers Heard, Saying 'Let Us Pray,' And Old World Echoes Woke Ethereal Minster Bells That Still Averr'D, And With Their Phantom Notes Th' All Silence Broke. 'The Fanes Are Far, But Whom They Shrined Is Near. Thy God, The Island God, Is Here, Is Here.' To Serve; To Serve A Thought, And Serve Apart To Meet; A Few Short Days, A Maiden Won. 'Ah, Sweet, Sweet Home, I Must Divide My Heart, Betaking Me To Countries Of The Sun.' 'What Straight-Hung Leaves, What Rays That Twinkle And Dart, Make Me To Like Them.' 'Love, It Shall Be Done,' 'What Weird Dawn-Fire Across The Wide Hill Flies.' 'It Is The Flame-Tree'S Challenge To Yon Scarlet Skies.' 'Hark, Hark, O Hark! The Spirit Of A Bell! What Would It? ('Toll.') An Air-Hung Sacred Call, Athwart The Forest Shade It Strangely Fell' - 'Toll' - 'Toll.' The Longed-For Voice, But Ah, Withal I Felt, I Knew, It Was My Father'S Knell That Touched And Could The Over-Sense Enthrall. Perfect His Peace, A Whispering Pure And Deep As Theirs Who 'Neath His Native Towers By Avon Sleep. If Love And Death Are Ever Reconciled, 'T Is When The Old Lie Down For The Great Rest. We Rode Across The Bush, A Sylvan Wild That Was An Almost World, Whose Calm Oppressed With Audible Silence; And Great Hills Inisled Rose Out As From A Sea. Consoling, Blest And Blessing Spoke She, And The Reedflower Spread, And Tall Rock Lilies Towered Above Her Head. * * * * * Sweet Is The Light Aneath Our Matchless Blue, The Shade Below Yon Passion Plant That Lies, And Very Sweet Is Love, And Sweet Are You, My Little Children Dear, With Violet Eyes, And Sweet About The Dawn To Hear Anew The Sacred Monotone Of Peace Arise. Love, 'T Is Thy Welcome From The Air-Hung Bell, Congratulant And Clear, Estelle, Estelle.