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And bore thee where I could not see

Nor follow, tho' I walk in haste ;

And think that, somewhere in the w The Shadow sits and waits for me.

XXIII.

Now, sometimes in my sorrow shut,
Or breaking into song by fits;

Alone, alone, to where he sits,
The Shadow cloak'd from head to foot

Who keeps the keys of all the creeds,
I wander, often falling lame,

And looking back to whence I came,
Or on to where the pathway leads ;

And crying, how changed from where it ran
Thro' lands where not a leaf was dumb;

But all the lavish hills would hum

The murmur of a happy Pan:

When each by turns was guide to each,

And Fancy light from Fancy caught,

And Thought leapt out to wed with Thought,

Ere thought could wed itself with Speech:

And all we met was fair and good,

And all was good that Time could bri

And all the secret of the Spring Moved in the chambers of the blood:

And many an old philosophy

On Argive heights divinely sang,

And round us all the thicket rang To many a flute of Arcady.

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Nor could I weary, heart or limb,

When mighty Love would cleave in twain

The lading of a single pain,

And part it, giving half to him.

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