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more.

ASK, IS LOVE DIVINE

Ask, is Love divine, Voices all are, Ay. Question for the sign, There's a common sigh.

Would we through our years
Love forego,

Quit of scars and tears?
Ah, but no, no, no!

SONG OF THE SONGLESS

They have no song, the sedges dry,
And still they sing.

It is within my breast they sing,
As I pass by.

Within my breast they touch a spring,
They wake a sigh.

There is but sound of sedges dry;
In me they sing.

DIRGE IN WOODS

A wind sways the pines,
And below

Not a breath of wild air;
Still as the mosses that glow
On the flooring and over the lines
Of the roots here and there.
The pine-tree drops its dead;
They are quiet as under the sea.
Overhead, overhead
Rushes life in a race,

As the clouds the clouds chase:
And we go,

And we drop like the fruits of the tree,
Even we,
Even so.

CHRISTINA ROSSETTI

(1830-1894)

THE BRIDE-SONG

FROM THE PRINCE'S PROGRESS

Too late for love, too late for joy!

Too late! too late!

You loitered on the road too long,

You trifled at the gate:

The enchanted dove upon her branch
Died without a mate;

9

Give me the lowest place: not that I dare Ask for that lowest place, but Thou hast died

That I might live and share

Thy glory by Thy side.

Give me the lowest place: or if for me That lowest place too high, make one more low

Where I may sit and see

My God and love Thee so.

JAMES THOMSON (1834-1882)

FROM THE CITY OF DREADFUL NIGHT

As I came through the desert thus it was,
As I came through the desert: All was black,
In heaven no single star, on earth no track;
A brooding hush without a stir or note,
The air so thick it clotted in my throat;
And thus for hours; then some enormous things
Swooped past with savage cries and clanking
wings:

But I strode on austere;

No hope could have no fear. 176

As I came through the desert thus it was,
As I came through the desert: Eyes of fire
Glared at me throbbing with a starved desire;
The hoarse and heavy and carnivorous breath
Was hot upon me from deep jaws of death;
Sharp claws, swift talons, fleshless fingers cold
Plucked at me from the bushes, tried to hold:
But I strode on austere;

No hope could have no fear. 185

As I came through the desert thus it was,
As I came through the desert: Lo you, there,
That hillock burning with a brazen glare;
Those myriad dusky flames with points a-glow
Which writhed and hissed and darted to and