Let the great world spin forever down the ringing grooves of change. Thro' the shadow of the globe we sweep into the younger day: Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay. Mother-Age (for mine I knew not), help me as when life begun: Rift the hills, and roll the waters, flash the lightnings, weigh the Sun. O, I see the crescent promise of my spirit hath not set. Ancient founts of inspiration well thro' all my fancy yet. Howsoever these things be, a long farewell to Locksley Hall! Now for me the woods may wither, now for me the roof-tree fall. 190 Comes a vapour from the margin, blackening over heath and holt, Cramming all the blast before it, in its breast a thunderbolt. Let it fall on Locksley Hall, with rain or hail, or fire or snow; For the mighty wind arises, roaring seaward, and I go. ST. AGNES' EVE Deep on the convent-roof the snows The shadows of the convent-towers My good blade carves the casques of men, The shattering trumpet shrilleth high, The hard brands shiver on the steel, And when the tide of combat stands, How sweet are looks that ladies bend To save from shame and thrall: But all my heart is drawn above, My knees are bow'd in crypt and shrine: I never felt the kiss of love, Nor maiden's hand in mine. In our low world, where yet 'tis sweet to live. 50 Not die; but live a life of truest breath, 60 Maud made my Maud by that long loving kiss, Life of my life, wilt thou not answer this? "The dusky strand of Death inwoven here With dear Love's tie, makes Love himself more dear." Is that enchanted moan only the swell Of twelve sweet hours that past in bridal white, To dreamful wastes where footless fancies dwell Among the fragments of the golden day. 70 May nothing there her maiden grace affright! And ye meanwhile far over moor and fell tell, Blest, but for some dark undercurrent woe That seems to draw but it shall not be so: Let all be well, be well. 80 |