With recognising eyes
Look from your Paradise—
“God bless
Thy hopelessness!”
Call, holy soul, O call
The hosts angelical,
And say,—
“See, far away
“Lies one I saw on earth;
One stricken from his birth
With curse
Of destinate verse.
“What place doth He ye serve
For such sad spirit reserve,—
Given,
In dark lieu of Heaven,
“The impitiable Dæmon,
Beauty, to adore and dream on,
To be
Perpetually
“Hers, but she never his?
He reapeth miseries,
Foreknows
His wages woes;
“He lives detachèd days;
He serveth not for praise;
For gold
He is not sold;
“Deaf is he to world’s tongue;
He scorneth for his song
The loud
Shouts of the crowd;
“He asketh not world’s eyes;
Not to world’s ears he cries;
Saith,—‘These
Shut, if ye please;’
“He measureth world’s pleasure,
World’s ease as Saints might measure;
For hire
Just love entire