Page:The Poems and Prose remains of Arthur Hugh Clough, volume 2 (1869).djvu/50

 In act to speak she rose, but with the sense Of all the eyes of that mixed company Now suddenly turned upon her, some with age Hardened and dulled, some cold and critical; Some in whom vapours of their own conceit, As moist malarious mists the heavenly stars, Still blotted out their good, the best at best By frivolous laugh and prate conventional All too untuned for all she thought to say— With such a thought the mantling blood to her cheek Flushed-up, and o'er-flushed itself, blank night her soul Made dark, and in her all her purpose swooned. She stood as if for sinking. Yet anon With recollections clear, august, sublime, Of God's great truth, and right immutable, Which, as obedient vassals, to her mind Came summoned of her will, in self-negation Quelling her troublous earthy consciousness, She queened it o'er her weakness. At the spell Back rolled the ruddy tide, and leaves her cheek Paler than erst, and yet not ebbs so far But that one pulse of one indignant thought Might hurry k hither in flood. So as she stood She spoke. God in her spoke and made her heard.

As, at a railway junction, men Who came together, taking then One the train up, one down, again

Meet never! Ah, much more as they Who take one street's two sides, and say Hard parting words, but walk one way: