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Or thronging all one porch of Paradise,
A group of Houris bowed to see
That said, we wait for thee.
In some fair space of sloping greens
And watched by weeping queens. Or hollowing one hand against his ear,
To list a footfall, ere he saw The wood-nymph, stayed the Ausonian king to hear
Of wisdom and of law.
Or over hills with peaky tops engrailed,
And many a tract of palm and rice, The throne of Indian Cama slowly sailed
A summer fanned with spice.
Or sweet Europa's mantle blew unclasped
From off' her shoulder backward borne:
The mild bull's golden horn.
Half-buried in the Eagle's down,
Above the pillared town.
Which the supreme Caucasian mind
Not less than life, designed.
Then in the towers I placed great bells that swung
Moved of themselves, with silver sound; And with choice paintings of wise men I hung
The royal dais round.
For there was Milton like a seraph strong,
Beside him Shakspeare bland and mild ; And there the world-worn Dante grasped his song,
And somewhat grimly smiled.
And there the Iovian father of the rest ;
A million wrinkles carved his skin ;
From cheek and throat and chin.
Above, the fair hall-ceiling stately-set
Many an arch high up did lift,
With interchange of gift.
With cycles of the human tale
So wrought, they will not fail.
Toiled onward, pricked with goads and stings ; Here played, a tiger, rolling to and fro
The heads and crowns of kings ;
All force in bonds that might endure,
And trusted any cure.
Began to chime. She took her throne :
To sing her songs alone.
Two godlike faces gazed below:
The first of those who know.
And all those names, that in their motion were
Full-welling fountain-heads of change, Betwixt the slender shafts were blazoned fair
In diverse raiment strange : Through which the lights, rose, amber, emerald, blue
Flushed in her temples and her eyes, And from her lips, as morn from Memnon, drew
Rivers of melodies.
No nightingale delighteth to prolong
Her low preamble all alone,
Throb through the ribbed stone ;
Joying to feel herself alive,
Lord of the senses five;
Communing with herself: “ All these are mine,
And let the world have peace or wars, 'Tis one to me.” She—when young night divine
Crowned dying day with stars, Making sweet close of his delicious toils—
Lit light in wreaths and anadems, And pure quintessences of precious oils
În hollowed moons of gems,
I marvel if my still delight
Be flattered to the height.
O shapes and hues that please me well! O silent faces of the Great and Wise,
My Gods, with whom I dwell!
"O God-like isolation which art mine,
I can but count thee perfect gain, What time I watch the darkening droves of swine
That range on yonder plain. " In filthy sloughs they roll a prurient skin,
They graze and wallow, breed and sleep; And oft some brainless devil enters in,
And drives them to the deep.”
Then of the moral instinct would she prate,
And of the rising from the dead,
And at the last she said :
“ I take possession of man's mind and deed.
I care not what the sects may brawl. I sit as God, holding no form of creed,
But contemplating all.”
Full oft the riddle of the painful earth
Flashed through her as she sat alone, Yet not the less held she her solemn mirth,
And intellectual throne.
And so she throve and prospered : so three years
She prospered : on the fourth she fell, Like Herod, when the shout was in his ears,
Struck through with pangs of hell. Lest she should fail and perish utterly,
God, before whom ever lie bare The abysmal deeps of Personality,
Plagued her with sore despair. When she would think,where'er she turned her sight,
The airy hand confusion wrought, Wrote “Mene, mene," and divided quite
The kingdom of her thought.
Deep dread and loathing of her solitude
Fell on her, from which mood was born Scorn of herselt, again, from out that mood
Laughter at her self-scorn. 5 What! is not this my place of strength,” she said,
My spacious mansion built for me,
my first memory?”
Uncertain shapes; and unawares
And horrible nightmares,
And, with dim fretted foreheads all,
three-months-old at noon she came, That stood against the wall. A spot of dull stagnation, without light
Or power of movement, seemed my soul, 'Mid onward-sloping motions infinite
Making for one sure goal.
Left on the shore; that hears all night
Their moon-led waters white.
A star that with the choral starry dance
Joined not, but stood, and standing saw
Rolled round by one fixed law.
" No voice," she shrieked in that lone hall, “ No voice breaks through the stillness of this world,
One deep, deep silence all !”