But suddenly, across A narrow fiord wherein wild billows toss, We saw before our eyes, High hung above the tide, a temple rise—
A temple wondrous fair, Lifting its shining turrets in the air, All touched with golden gleams, Like the bright miracles we see in dreams.
Grief turned and looked at me. “We must go thither, O my friends,” said she; Then, saying nothing more, With rapid, gliding step passed on before.
And we—my Heart and I— Where Grief went, we went, following silently, Till in sweet solitude Beneath the temple’s vaulted roof we stood.
’Twas like a hollow pearl— A vast white sacred chamber, where the whirl Of passion stirred not, where A luminous splendor trembled in the air.
“O friends, I know this place,” Said Grief at last, “this lofty, silent space, Where, either soon or late, I and my kindred all shall lie in state.”
“But do Griefs die?” I cried. “Some die—not all,” full calmly she replied. “Yet all at last will lie In this fair chamber, slumbering quietly.
Chamber of Silence, this; Who brings his Grief here doth not go amiss. Mine hour hath come. We three Will walk, O friends, no more in company.”
Then was I dumb. My Heart And I—how could we with our dear Grief part, Who for so many a day Had walked beside us in our lonely way?
But she, with matchless grace, And a sweet smile upon her tear-wet face, Said, “Leave me here to sleep, Where every Grief forgets at last to weep.”