Page:The collected works of Henrik Ibsen (Heinemann Volume 3).djvu/155

 "Yes, it is too small," they cried; They would have it spread and soar, Like a palace in its pride. Agnes—ah! I see it clear; Thou the woman art whom God Gave me for His angel-guide. Safe alike from doubt and fear Through the darkness thou hast trod, Keeping still the even way, Where I blindly went astray. Thee no glamour captivated— Once thy finger show'd the fated Region where my life-work waited, Check'd me, as I sought sublime, To the vault of heaven to climb, Turn'd my soaring glance within, And that kingdom bade me win. Now, a second time, thy word Penetrates my soul like day, Guides me where I vainly err'd, Glorifies my weary way. Small the Church is? Be it so: Then a greater Church shall grow. Never, never did I wot All God gave me, giving thee; Now that cry of thine's for me: Leave me not! Oh leave me not!

All my sorrow I will quell, I will dry the tears that well, Seal in still sepulchral sleep Memory's lone castle-keep; Lay oblivion like a sea Open between it and me, I will blot the joyous gleams