I had been stricken by the darts of men
Since those fresh days; and now thy light divine
Look’d on mine anguish, while within me strove
The still small voice against the might of suffering love.
XLVIII.
But thou, the clear, the glorious! thou wert pouring
Brilliance and joy upon the crystal wave,
While she that met thy ray with eyes adoring,
Stood in the lengthening shadow of the grave!
Alas! I watch’d her dark religious glance,