The full heart bursts in twain, 
And like a jewel in gold 

Is clasped by mortal pain. 


It turns on you its look 
Darkly, compellingly, 
From you, babe-like, would suck 
Hope and Eternity. 


Alas, your light is never 

More than aethereally rare. 
No divine being ever 

Cast into you his fire. 


You are false images, 
Faces of radiant flame; 
Heart’s warmth and tenderness 
And Soul you cannot claim. 


A mockery is your shining 
Of Action, Pain, Desire. 

On you is dashed all yearning 
And the heart’s song of fire. 


Early Literary Experiments 609 


Grieving, we must turn grey, | 
End in despair and pain, 
Then see the mockery 
That Earth and Heaven remain; 


That, as we tremble even, 

And worlds within us drown, 
No tree trunk’s ever riven, 

No star goes plunging down. 


Dead you’d be otherwise, 

Your grave the ocean blue, 
All gone, the shining rays, 

And all fire spent in you. 


Truth you’d speak silently, 

Not dazzle with dead light, 
Nor shine in clarity; 

And all round would be Night.