Page:The Garden of Years.djvu/47



Oh, clad in all a dream’s unstable guise,

And unsubstantial as the veriest air,

Thenceforward hung your presence on my eyes,

Worthy of all and any sacrifice,

Pale, but beyond my maddest memory fair!

Walked I by day, the phantom form was there;

Slept I, its radiance on my dreams was cast,

Teaching me mutely how I might prepare

To be, when we should meet again at last,

More pure, more humble, worthier,—and more wise.

No longer toy of each most idle whim,

But unto nobler aims apprentice made,

I filled my duty’s chalice to the brim,

And daily drank my portion, good or grim;—

So was Hope’s stirring summons well obeyed.

And, grew I ever of the end afraid,

Despaired I of my ultimate design,

In that dark hour, when most I needed aid,

As if my draught grew stimulant with wine,

Your promised lips hallowed the goblet’s rim.