That we might see our own work out, and watch The sandy footprint harden into stone.' I answer'd nothing, doubtful in myself If that strange maiden could at all be won. 'No doubt we seem a kind of monster to you: We are used to that; for women, up till this Cramp'd under worse than South-sea-isle taboo, Dwarfs of the gynæceum, fail so far In high desire, they know not, cannot guess If we could give them surer, quicker proof- By slow approaches, than by single act Of immolation, any phase of death, We were as prompt to spring against the pikes, Or down the fiery gulf as talk of it, To compass our dear sister's liberties.' F She bow'd as if to veil a noble tear; And up we came to where the river sloped To plunge in cataract, shattering on black blocks A breadth of thunder. O'er it shook the woods, And danced the colour, and, below, stuck out The bones of some vast bulk that lived and roar'd 'As these rude bones to us, are we to her That will be.' 'Dare we dream of that,' I ask’d, 'Which wrought us, as the workman and his work, That practice betters?' How,' she cried,' you love The metaphysics! read and earn our prize, A golden broach: beneath an emerald plane Sits Diotima, teaching him that died Of hemlock; our device; wrought to the life; For there are schools for all.' ' And yet' I said One anatomic.' Nay we thought of that,' 6 She answer'd, but it pleased us not in truth We shudder but to dream our maids should ape And cram him with the fragments of the grave, Or in the dark dissolving human heart, And holy secrets of this microcosm, Dabbling a shameless hand with shameful jest, Knowledge is knowledge, and this matter hangs : Nor willing men should come among us, learnt, For many weary moons before we came, This craft of healing. Would tend upon you. Were you sick, ourself To your question now, Which touches on the workman and his work. Let there be light and there was light: 'tis so: For was, and is, and will be, are but is ; And all creation is one act at once, The birth of light: but we that are not all, As parts, can see but parts, now this, now that, And live, perforce, from thought to thought, and make One act a phantom of succession: thus Our weakness somehow shapes the shadow, Time; But in the shadow will we work, and mould The woman to the fuller day.' She spake With kindled eyes: we rode a league beyond, And, o'er a bridge of pinewood crossing, came On flowery levels underneath the crag, Full of all beauty. O how sweet' I said (For I was half-oblivious of my mask) 6 To linger here with one that loved us.' 'Yea' 6 She answer'd or with fair philosophies That lift the fancy; for indeed these fields Are lovely, lovelier not the Elysian lawns, Where paced the Demigods of old, and saw Pitch our pavilion here upon the sward; Lay out the viands.' At the word, they raised With fair Corinna's triumph; here she stood, And all the men mourn'd at his side: but we With mine affianced. Many a little hand Glanced like a touch of sunshine on the rocks, Many a light foot shone like a jewel set In the dark crag: and then we turn'd, we wound About the cliffs, the copses, out and in, Hammering and clinking, chattering stony names Of shale and hornblende, rag and trap and tuff, Amygdaloid and trachyte, till the Sun Grew broader toward his death and fell, and all The rosy heights came out above the lawns. |