And passed into a painted hall,
Most goodly wrought on roof and wall
With dreams, and golden mysteries
Of love and love’s rich histories
Wherein dumb thoughts of heart and brain
Took form and speech and breathed again.
Natheless, ere we the end might win
Was hung a veil, fine-woven, thin,
But through the veil a fire glowed dim,
And faint-heard music soft did swim,