Page:Tristram of Lyonesse and other poems (IA tristramoflyonesswinrich).pdf/250

 Hardly long years had shed Their shadows on her head: Hardly we think her dead, Who hardly thought her Old: hardly can believe The grief our hearts receive And wonder while they grieve, as wrong were wrought her.

But though strong grief be strong No word or thought of wrong May stain the trembling song, Wring the bruised heart, That sounds or sighs its faint Low note of love, nor taint Grief for so sweet a saint, when such depart.

A saint whose perfect soul, With perfect love for goal, Faith hardly might control, Creeds might not harden: A flower more splendid far Than the most radiant star Seen here of all that are in God's own garden.

Surely the stars we see Rise and relapse as we, And change and set, may be But shadows too: But spirits that man's lot Could neither mar nor spot Like these false lights are not, being heavenly true.