He halted at the challenge of the dead.
Anon, in twilight, fancy feigned a smile
To curve the carven lips, as though they said,
“Oh, welcome, brother, of whom the world hath need!
Ere the recorded deed
We trembled, hoped, and doubted, even as thou.”
And therewithal he lifted up his brow,
Uplift from hesitance and humble fear,
And saw how with the splendour of the sun
The glimmering oriel blossomed rosy-clear;