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Rh I yield; you have conquered.’ ‘Stay,’ I answered him; ‘I’ve something for your hearing, also. I Have failed too.’ ‘You!’ he said, ‘you’re very great: The sadness of your greatness fits you well: As if the plume upon a hero’s casque Should nod a shadow upon his victor face.’

I took him up austerely,—’You have read My book but not my heart; for recollect, ‘Tis writ in Sanscrit, which you bungle at. I’ve surely failed, I know; if failure means To look back sadly on work gladly done,— To wander on my mountains of Delight, So called, (I can remember a friend’s words As well as you, sir,) weary and in want Of even a sheep-path, thinking bitterly. . Well, well! no matter. I but say so much, To keep you, Romney Leigh, from saying more, And let you feel I am not so high indeed, That I can bear to have you at my foot,— Or safe, that I can help you. That June-day, Too deeply sunk in craterous sunsets now For you or me to dig it up alive; To pluck it out all bleeding with spent flame At the roots, before those moralising stars We have got instead,—that poor lost day, you said Some words as truthful as the thing of mine You care to keep in memory: and I hold