More nobly moved, I mourn’d that older love.
It aye had come from regions far and pure,
From sacred heights of dream-land and desire,
And trailing light like Moses from the mount,
With one hand clasping mine, one pointing up
To something earthly, yet more near the sky.
It aye had thrill’d the throbbing veins it near’d
And made my brow flush proudly as the boor’s
When king’s hands knight him, and he bears away
Ennobled blood forever.—My mood though—