IS this the end? Is this the pilgrim's day
For dread, for dereliction, and for tears?
Rather, from grass and air and many spheres
In prophecy his heart is called away;
And under English eaves, more still than they,
Far-off, incoming, wonderful, he hears
The long-arrested, the believing years
Carry the sea-wall! Shall he, sighing, say:
"Farewell to Faith, for she is dead at best
Who had such beauty"? or, with spirit fain
To watch beside her darkened doors, go by
With a new psalm: "O banished Light so nigh!
Of them was I, who bore thee and who blest:
Even here remember me when thou shalt reign."