Page:Tristram of Lyonesse and other poems (IA tristramoflyonesswinrich).pdf/284



low soe’er men rank us, How high soe’er we win, The children far above us Dwell, and they deign to love us, With lovelier love than ours, And smiles more sweet than flowers; As though the sun should thank us For letting light come in.

With too divine complaisance, Whose grace misleads them thus, Being gods, in heavenly blindness They call our worship kindness, Our pebble-gift a gem: They think us good to them, Whose glance, whose breath, whose presence, Are gifts too good for us.

The poet high and hoary Of meres that mountains bind Felt his great heart more often Yearn, and its proud strength soften