With their old radiant intensity;
Only I seem to see, as by the gleam
Of boatmen's torches mirrored in the stream
That bears them on, a faith that not alone
He builds His temple of enduring stone,
But sends the flowers that in its crannies creep,
And in His very scales of justice throws
The young man's dreams, the tears of them that weep,
The words the maiden murmurs to the rose."
The king was still. A passing boatman's oars