I am mine and yours—the rest be all men's, Though the fruit of speech be just this sentence- Where my heart lies, let my brain lie also! Poor the speech; be how I speak, for all things. XV. Not but that you know me! Lo, the moon's self! 135 140 145 Curving on a sky imbrued with colour, Drifted over Fiesole by twilight, Came she, our new crescent of a hair's-breadth. Full she flared it, lamping Samminiato, 150 Rounder 'twixt the cypresses and rounder, XVI. What, there's nothing in the moon noteworthy? 155 60 She would turn a new side to her mortal, Side unseen of herdsman, huntsman, steersman-- Blind to Galileo on his turret, Dumb to Homer, dumb to Keats-him, even ! 165 Think, the wonder of the moonstruck mortal- Climbed and saw the very God, the Highest, Shone the stone, the sapphire of that paved-work, XVII. 170 175 What were seen? None knows, none ever shall know. Only this is sure—the sight were other, 181 Not the moon's same side, born late in Florence, Dying now impoverished here in London. God be thanked, the meanest of his creatures Boasts two soul-sides, one to face the world with, 185 XVIII. This I say of me, but think of you, Love! This to you-yourself my moon of poets! Ah, but that's the world's side-there's the wonderThus they see you, praise you, think they know you! 190 There, in turn, I stand with them and praise you! Out of my own self, I dare to phrase it. But the best is when I glide from out them, 195 XIX. Oh, their Rafael of the dear Madonnas, 200 PROSPICE. FEAR death?-to feel the fog in my throat, When the snows begin, and the blasts denote I am nearing the place, The power of the night, the press of the storm, The post of the foe, Where he stands, the Arch Fear in a visible form? Yet the strong man must go ; For the journey is done and the summit attained, Though a battle's to fight ere the guerdon be gained, I was ever a fighter, so-one fight more, The best and the last! 5 ΤΟ I would hate that death bandaged my eyes, and forbore, 15 And bade me creep past. No! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers, The heroes of old, Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life's arrears 20 For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave, And the elements' rage, the fiend-voices that rave, Shall change, shall become first a peace out of pain, O thou soul of my soul! I shall clasp thee again, 25 INVOCATION. From the 'RING AND THE BOOK.' O lyric Love, half angel and half bird, When the first summons from the darkling earth Reached thee amid thy chambers, blanched their blue, This is the same voice: can thy soul know change? ΙΟ 15 20 In those thy realms of help, that heaven thy home, Some whiteness, which, I judge, thy face makes proud, 25 Some wanness where, I think, thy foot may fall. 5 |