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159
PRELUDE.
He could not close his weary eyes
Because she chid him, ere she slept;
He left let his bed at morning rise,
And through the streets uneasy swept,
Waiting till slumber's truce should cease,
And she might give the sign of peace.
Shall she be proud? oh no—
It is not she, but Love
That moves the great heart so.
Because she chid him, ere she slept;
He left let his bed at morning rise,
And through the streets uneasy swept,
Waiting till slumber's truce should cease,
And she might give the sign of peace.
Shall she be proud? oh no—
It is not she, but Love
That moves the great heart so.
She gave it, and he bent his head,
The head that bears the massy curls,
And pressed the lips, so lustrous red,
The full lips, set with stainless pearls,
With fervour on the thin, weak hand,
That holds nor prowess, wealth, nor land.
Shall she be proud? oh no—
Not by her word, but Love's,
The pulse-beats come and go.
The head that bears the massy curls,
And pressed the lips, so lustrous red,
The full lips, set with stainless pearls,
With fervour on the thin, weak hand,
That holds nor prowess, wealth, nor land.
Shall she be proud? oh no—
Not by her word, but Love's,
The pulse-beats come and go.
160
And when I try, beneath this sun,
All exploits that o'erleap the grave,
I find by Will they were not done,
Nor Wealth, nor Wisdom chose nor gave.
Some higher Potency begot
The Virtue's self that knew it not.
Shall we be proud? oh no?
Not from ourselves, but Love,
Immortal actions flow.
All exploits that o'erleap the grave,
I find by Will they were not done,
Nor Wealth, nor Wisdom chose nor gave.
Some higher Potency begot
The Virtue's self that knew it not.
Shall we be proud? oh no?
Not from ourselves, but Love,
Immortal actions flow.
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