Own Mother dear,
We all rejoicing here
Wait for each other,
Daughter for Mother,
Sister for Brother,
Till each dear face appear
Transfigured by Love's flame
Yet still the same,—
The same yet new,—
My face to you,
Your face to me,
Made lovelier by Love's flame
But still the same;
Most dear to see
In halo of Love's flame,
Because the same.

Will you be there? my yearning heart has cried:
Ah me, my love, my love, shall I be there,
To sit down in your glory and to share
Your gladness, glowing as a virgin bride?
Or will another dearer, fairer-eyed,
Sit nigher to you in your jubilee;
And mindful one of other will you be
Borne higher and higher on joy's ebbless tide?
—Yea, if I love I will not grudge you this:
I too shall float upon that heavenly sea
And sing my joyful praises without ache;
Your overflow of joy shall gladden me,

The sky was like a waterdrop
In shadow of a thorn,
Clear, tranquil, beautiful,
Dark, forlorn.

Lightning along its margin ran;
A rumour of the sea
Rose in profundity and sank
Into infinity.

Lofty and few the elms, the stars
In the vast boughs most bright;
I stood a dreamer in a dream
In the unstirring night.

Not wonder, worship, not even peace
Seemed in my heart to be:
Only the memory of one,
Of all most dead to me.

“What voice is that I hear
Crying across the pool?”
“It is the voice of Pan you hear,
Crying his sorceries shrill and clear,
In the twilight dim and cool.”

“What song is it he sings,
Echoing from afar;
While the sweet swallow bends her wings,
Filling the air with twitterings,
Beneath the brightening star?”

The woodman answered me,
His faggot on his back:—
“Seek not the face of Pan to see;
Flee from his clear note summoning thee
To darkness deep and black!”

“He dwells in thickest shade,

Wishes left on your lips
The mark of their wings.
Regrets fly kites in your eyes.

Go foolish thoughts, and join the throng
Of myriads gone before
To flutter and flap and flit along
The airy limbo shore.

Go, words of sport and words of wit,
Sarcastic points and fine,
And words of wisdom wholly fit
With folly's to combine.

Go, words of wisdom, words of sense,
Which while the heart belied,
The tongue still uttered for pretence
The inner blank to hide.

Go, words of wit, so gay, so light,
That still were meant express
To soothe the smart of fancied slight
By fancies of success.

He died for me: what can I offer Him?
Toward Him swells incense of perpetual prayer;
His court wear crowns and aureoles round their hair;
His ministers are subtle cherubim,
Ring within ring, white intense seraphim
Leap like immortal lightnings thro' the air:
What shall I offer Him? defiled and bare
My spirit broken and my brightness dim.—
Give Me thy youth;—I yield it to Thy rod
As Thou didst yield Thy prime of youth for me:—
Give Me thy life;—I give it breath by breath
As Thou didst give Thy life so give I Thee:—

A windy shell singing upon the shore:
A lily budding in a desert place;
Blooming alone
With no companion
To praise its perfect perfume and its grace:
A rose crimson and blushing at the core,
Hedged in with thorns behind it and before:
A fountain in the grass,
Whose shadowy waters pass
Only to nourish birds and furnish food
For squirrels of the wood:
An oak deep in the forest's heart, the house
Of black-eyed tiny mouse;
Its strong roots fit for fuel roofing in
The hoarded nuts, acorns and grains of wheat;

“I thought your search was over.”—“So I thought.”—
“But you are seeking still.”—“Yes, even so:
Still seeking in mine own despite below
That which in Heaven alone is found unsought;
Still spending for that thing which is not bought.”—
“Then chase no more this shifting empty show.”—
“Amen: so bid a drowning man forego
The straw he clutches; will he so be taught?
You have a home where peace broods like a dove
Screened from the weary world's loud discontent,
You have home here, you wait for home above:
I must unlearn the pleasant ways I went,

H ERODION , Apelles, Amplias,
And Andronicus? Is it you I see—
At last? And is it you now that are gazing
As if in doubt of me? Was I not saying
That I should come to Rome? I did say that;
And I said furthermore that I should go
On westward, where the gateway of the world
Lets in the central sea. I did say that,
But I say only, now, that I am Paul—
A prisoner of the Law, and of the Lord
A voice made free. If there be time enough
To live, I may have more to tell you then
Of western matters. I go now to Rome,