We may not ever that dear bliss renew;
But what we found has entered into me—
A change of motive and a fairer view,
As though God whispered: "Henceforth thou shalt be
Strong to fulfil thy soul; rise up and make
Paths and a song in deserts for her sake!"
XIII
What barriers are these that bid me stand
Baffled, amazed, and wrathful at the sign
That threatens me for claiming what is mine!
Have we not walked together hand in hand
Down lanes of Devon; mused upon the sand
Beside the Bay of Naples; drunk the wine
Of famed Fiesole, where Shelley's line
Thundered of freedom for Italia's land!
Tradition built this guarded shadow-wall,
And Shelley's song hath strength to sing it down.
Come, brave the craven face funereal,
Of Pharisees who weave of thorns a crown
For him who has not faltered at the cross,
But counts that gain which others reckon loss.
XIV
There needs must be misunderstandings, dear;
For love is more than the much-written word,—
Transcends it, as the home-flight of a bird
Is distanced by the sun. Let fall the fear;
Let Joy and constant Certainty appear
Armed with angelic swords of flame that gird
Their thighs; for though the day with rain is blurred,
Hark to the singing legions of the year!
Always I find gain in lamented loss;
Some treasure in the beaten path I tread;
And that alone survives which bears a cross
Branded by some hot trial that is dead.
Last night as I was weeping someone cried:
"Love cannot live save love be crucified!"