Part 2

This fair garden flowering to flame, That seems the wondrous beauty to proclaim Of that clear garden whereunto we cleave, Is crystallised in frosted gold this eve. A great white silence drops athwart the sky, Out there where gleams a marble hue, Whither, one by one, the tall trees stride, Each with its shadow, long and blue And lonely, by its side. No stir of wind; but soundlessly The blanched veils of cold alone Unfold themselves mysteriously On the marshes' silver or the roads' white stone. The stars are lustrous with desire; Like furbished steel the rime Within the cold, translucid air. From some infinity sublime, Across the paleness of a waning moon, Falls shower on shower of fire-- Star-dust that there Sinks in a scintillating swoon. It is the hour divine, when wistfully A million eyes look down upon the earth-- Upon the hazards of our human birth-- From out immutable eternity.

XXX

If it ever be That thou and I should bring One to the other suffering Of loss and sorrow; or if fate decree That weariness of banal joys unstring The golden bow within us of desire; If thought's clear crystal vase entire Must in our spirits fall and break below; If, spite of all, I lie at last supine, Vanquish'd for not having been enough The prey of great, divine, Utter nobility-- Oh! let us be like maddened fools that climb the height Beneath the ruin'd sky; and let us closer, closer cling, And in one monstrous flight, With sun-drenched souls, cleave the on-rushing night!