So sleeping, held he fast with fixéd will
His Master’s Book; and all the night was peace,
Bright peace on lawn and terrace, dale and hill.
Calm consummation, and most sweet surcease!
That tryst of sovereign powers Death would not wrong,
Shattering the bars with all-too-rough release,
But softly dealt.—They rule in splendor long,
Large lights, a moon and sun in England’s heaven of song.
THE IRIS-BRIDGE
That morn when men to one another said