Page:Collected poems Robinson, Edwin Arlington.djvu/308

 All coiled to spring at you and strike you dead? I am not going to spring at you, or bite you ; I'm going home. And you, if you are kind, Will have no fear to wander for an hour. I'm sure the time has come for you to wander; And there may come a time for you to say What most you think it is that we need here To make of this Broceliande a refuge Where two disheartened sinners may forget A world that has today no place for them." A melancholy wave of revelation Broke over Merlin like a rising sea, Long viewed unwillingly and long denied. He saw what he had seen, but would not feel, Till now the bitterness of what he felt Was in his throat, and all the coldness of it Was on him and around him like a flood Of lonelier memories than he had said Were memories, although he knew them now For what they were for what his eyes had seen, For what his ears had heard and what his heart Had felt, with him not knowing what it felt. But now he knew that his cold angel's name Was Change, and that a mightier will than his Or Vivian's had ordained that he be there. To Vivian he could not say anything But words that had no more of hope in them Than anguish had of peace : "I meant the world. . . I meant the world," he groaned; "not you not me." Again the frozen line of irony Was on her mouth. He looked up once at it. And then away too fearful of her eyes To see what he could hear now in her laugh