Page:Collected poems vol 1 de la mare.djvu/221

 Yet heaven hath its quiet shroud
 * Of deep, immutable blue —

We cry "An end!" We are bowed
 * By the dread, "'Tis true!"

While the Shape who hoofs applause
 * Behind our deafened ear,

Hoots — angel-wise — "the Cause!"
 * And affright even fear.