Were strays of parting grief and waifs of Heaven
For tears and memories; too delicate
For eyes of earth such souls immaculate!
But then—my God! my God! thus these were left!
I knew then still! but of that song bereft—
That rapturous wonder grasping after grief—
Beyond all thought—weak thought that would be thief."
And bowed and wept into his hands and she
Sorrowful beheld; and resting at her knee
Raised slow her oblong lute and smote its chords;