And half the lion's tenderness To shield her cubs from hurt or death, Which, when the serried hunters press, Makes terrible her wounded breath.
But when the lips I breathed upon Asked for such love as equals claim I looked where all the stars were gone Burned in the day's immortal flame.
'Come thou like yon great dawn to me From darkness vanquished, battles done: Flame unto flame shall flow and be Within thy heart and mine as one.'
As from our dream we died away Far off I felt the outer things; Your wind-blown tresses round me play, Your bosom's gentle murmurings.
And far away our faces met As on the verge of the vast spheres; And in the night our cheeks were wet, I could not say with dew or tears.
As one within the Mother's heart In that hushed dream upon the height We lived, and then we rose to part, Because her ways are infinite.
O, holy Spirit of the Hazel, hearken now, Though shining suns and silver moons burn on the bough, And though the fruit of stars by many myriads gleam, Yet in the undergrowth below, still in thy dream, Lighting the labyrinthine maze and monstrous gloom Are many gem-winged flowers with gay and delicate bloom; And in the shade, hearken, O Dreamer of the Tree, One wild rose blossom of thy spirit breathed on me With lovely and still light, a little sister flower To those that whitely on the tall moon branches tower, Lord of the Hazel now, oh hearken while I pray, This wild rose blossom of thy spirit fades away.
By many a dream of God and man my thoughts in shining flocks were led: But as I went through Patrick Street the hopes and prophecies were dead. The hopes and prophecies were dead: they could not blossom where the feet Walked amid rottenness, or where the brawling shouters stamped the street. Where was the beauty that the Lord gave man when first he towered in pride? But one came by me at whose word the bitter condemnation died. His brows were crowned with thorns of light: his eyes were bright as one who sees The starry palaces shine o'er the sparkle of the heavenly seas. 'Is it not beautiful?' he cried. Our Faery Land of Hearts' Desire Is mingled through the mire and mist, yet stainless keeps its lovely fire. The pearly phantoms with blown hair are dancing where the drunkards reel: The cloud frail daffodils shine out where filth is splashing from the heel. O sweet, and sweet, and sweet to hear, the melodies in rivers run: The rapture of their crowded notes is yet the myriad voice of One. Those who are lost and fallen here, to-night in sleep shall pass the gate, And wear the purples of the King, and know them masters of their fate. Each wrinkled hag shall reassume the plumes and hues of paradise: Each brawler be enthroned in calm among the Children of the Wise. Yet in the council with the gods no one will falter to pursue His lofty purpose, but come forth the cyclic labours to renew; And take the burden of the world and dim his beauty in a shroud, And wrestle with the chaos till the anarch to the light be bowed. We cannot for forgetfulness forego the reverence due to them Who wear at times they do not guess the sceptre and the diadem. As bright a crown as this was theirs when first they from the Father sped; Yet look with deeper eyes and still the ancient beauty is not dead. He mingled with the multitude. I saw their brows were crowned and bright, A light around the shadowy heads, a shadow round the head of light.