Page:Tristram of Lyonesse and other poems (IA tristramoflyonesswinrich).pdf/210

 Ours he is who love him, ours whose hearts’ hearts hold him Fast as his the trust that hearts like his may hold.

He, the heart most high, the spirit on earth most blameless, Takes in charge all spirits, holds all hearts in trust: As the sea-wind’s on the sea his ways are tameless, As the laws that steer the world his works are just. All most noble feel him nobler, all most shameless Feel his wrath and scorn make pale their pride and lust: All most poor and lowliest, all whose wrongs were nameless, Feel his word of comfort raise them from the dust

Pride of place and lust of empire bloody-fruited Knew the blasting of his breath on leaf and fruit: Now the hand that smote the death-tree now disrooted Plants the refuge-tree that has man’s hope for root Ah, but we by whom his darkness was saluted, How shall now all we that see his day salute? How should love not seem by love’s own speech confuted, Song before the sovereign singer not be mute?