I, trusting that the truly sweet
Would still be sweetly found the true,
Sang, darkling, taught by heavenly heat,
Songs which were wiser than I knew.
To the unintelligible dream
That melted like a gliding star,
I said: ‘We part to meet, fair Gleam!
You are eternal, for you _are_.’
To Love’s strange riddle, fiery writ
In flesh and spirit of all create,
‘Mocker,’ I said, ‘of mortal wit,
Me you shall not mock. I can wait.’
Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.
London & Edinburgh
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