And doom eternal—only your hand I felt,
Reached to me in the darkness—yet it seemed
In your hand’s touch I touched your very self,
Your very presence, changeable, careless, wild—
But O how poignant—sharp with all delight,
And gracious with dear bounties to bestow,
How greatly granted! Drowsily then at last,
In the old way, you begged me for some legend
Out of my boyhood’s record, some romance
From the far world that bore me; and my voice,