Ard. The lark that leaves
His meadow-mate and reels at the sun's door
Dropping his song of fire and clover-dew
Down to her heart.
Ber. [Kissing her] As this in thine!
Ard. And all
Life's dearer-veinèd joys,—the way-side hands
That pluck to camp-fire glow,—the smile of age,
Gift-sweet and wise beside the garner door——
Ber. Ay, dear are these ... but when we came again
From that far, holy place....
Ard. Ah, in your dream.
Ber. Where no words go or come....
Ard. When we came back?
Ber. Walking the light between the parted stars,
And met the days that knew us ... naught could hide
The eternal joy within it. Twas a world
Whose beauty lay allwheres. O, not alone
In morning skies and mated larks a-wing!
Each rag-hung thing was dipped in chosen time
And wore its royal hour.
Ard. If that could be!
Ber. What seers, what eyes of light, outshone the pain
That gave them being! Tears that silvered graves
Globed in their pearl the immortal hope of men,
And seemed as beautiful as prophecy
Burning in its own truth. Ay, where a man
Fell murdered, crying "I forgive," the ground
Sprang as a garden——