Together.
But like a God He will have died,
All hatred from His thought removed,
Imperfect until crucified,
In crucifixion well-beloved.
A FORCED MUSIC
Of Love he sang, full-hearted one.
But when the song was done
The King demanded more,
Ay, and commanded more.
The boy found nothing for encore,
Words, melodies, none:
Ashamed the song’s glad rise and plaintive fall
Had so charmed King and Queen and all.
He sang the same verse once again,
But urging less Love’s pain,
With altered time and key
He showed variety,
Seemed to refresh the harmony
Of his only strain,
So still the glad rise and the plaintive fall
Could charm the King, the Queen, and all.
He of his song then wearying ceased,
But was not yet released;
The Queen’s request was More,
And her behest was More.
He played of random notes some score,
He found his rhymes at least—
Then suddenly let his twangling harp down fall
And fled in tears from King and Queen and all.
THE TURN OF A PAGE
He suddenly, the page read as it turned,
Died.
The indignant eye discerned
No sense. “Good page, turn back,” it cried
(Happily evermore was cheated).
After these things he suddenly died,
The truthful page repeated.
“Turn back yon earlier pages, nine or ten,
To Him she loved and He alone of men.
Now change the sentence, page!” But still it read
He suddenly died: they scarce had time to kiss.
“Read on, ungentle reader,” the book said,
“Resign your hopes to this.”
The eye could not resign, restless in grief,
But darting forward to a later leaf
Found Him she loved and He alone of men.
Oh, who this He was, being a second He
Confused the plan; the book spoke sternly then,
“Read page by page and see!”