He caught his chisel, hastened to his bench,
And, kneeling on one knee before one more
Pale page of uncarved marble, murmured fast,
“Here will I ask it! here in marble! here
Will I carve well the restless, patient sphinx,
With eyes that burn, though prisoned all the while
In dull, cold stone: what is Life for? what for?”
And he wrought...
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Many things thou hast given me, dear heart;
But one thing thou hast taken: that high dream
Of heaven as of a country that should seem
Beyond all glory that divinest art
Has pictured:—with this I have had to part
Since knowing thee;—how long, love, will the gleam
Of each day’s sunlight on my pathway stream,
Richer than what seemed richest... -
On softest pillows my dim eyes unclose;
No pain,—delicious weariness instead;
Sweet silence broods around the quiet bed,
And round me breathes the fragrance of the rose.
The moonlight leans against the pane, and shows
The little leaves outside in watchful dread
Keeping their guard; while with swift, noiseless tread
Love in its lovelier...