Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1900.djvu/951

 But in those tracts, with her, it was The peace of utter light And silence. For no breeze may stir Along the steady flight Of seraphim; no echo there, Beyond all depth or height.

Heard hardly, some of her new friends, Playing at holy games, Spake, gentle-mouth'd, among themselves, Their virginal chaste names; And the souls, mounting up to God, Went by her like thin flames.

And still she bow'd herself, and stoop'd Into the vast waste calm; Till her bosom's pressure must have made The bar she lean'd on warm, And the lilies lay as if asleep Along her bended arm.

From the fixt lull of Heaven, she saw Time, like a pulse, shake fierce Through all the worlds. Her gaze still strove, In that steep gulf, to pierce The swarm; and then she spoke, as when The stars sang in their spheres.

'I wish that he were come to me, For he will come,' she said. 'Have I not pray'd in solemn Heaven? On earth, has he not pray'd? Are not two prayers a perfect strength? And shall I feel afraid?