Thou reach my castle in the mountain’d North,
Whose mistress I will make thee, and mine own.” 
Then Lucia said:  “But how if Angelo
Pursue and overtake us?” Whereupon
Ugo replied:  “Pursue he may,—­o’ertake
He shall not, save he saddle him the wind. 
Besides—­to grant the impossible—­if he
Were to o’ertake us, he could only strive
To win you back with argument; wherein
My servants, at their master’s bidding, could
Debate with him on more than equal terms: 
Cold steel convinces warmest disputants. 
Or, if to see the bosom marital
Impierced, would make your own consorted heart
Bleed sympathetic, some more mild—­” But she,
The beauteous Fury, interrupted him
With passionate-pallid lips:  “Reproach me not
Beforehand—­even in jest reproach me not—­
With imputation of such tenderness
For him and his life—­when thou knowest how
I hate, hate, hate him,—­when thou knowest how
I wish, and wish, and wish, that he were dead.”

Then Angelo bethought him of his vow;
And stepping forward stood before the twain;
And from his girdle plucked a dagger forth;
And spake no word, but pierced his own heart through.

THE QUESTIONER

I asked of heaven and earth and sea,
Saying:  “O wondrous trinity,
Deign to make answer unto me,
And tell me truly what ye be.” 
And they made answer:  “Verily,
The mask before His face are we,
Because ’tis writ no man can see
His face and live;”—­so spake the three. 
Then I:  “O wondrous trinity,
A mask is but a mockery—­
Make answer yet again to me
And tell if aught besides are ye.” 
And they made answer:  “Verily,
The robe around His form are we,
That sick and sore mortality
May touch its hem and healed be.” 
Then I:  “O wondrous trinity,
Vouchsafe once more to answer me,
And tell me truly, what is He
Whose very mask and raiment ye?”
But they replied:  “Of Time are we,
And of Eternity is He. 
Wait thou, and ask Eternity;
Belike his mouth shall answer thee.”

THE RIVER

I

As drones a bee with sultry hum
When all the world with heat lies dumb,
Thou dronest through the drowsed lea,
To lose thyself and find the sea.

As fares the soul that threads the gloom
Toward an unseen goal of doom,
Thou farest forth all witlessly,
To lose thyself and find the sea.

II

My soul is such a stream as thou,
Lapsing along it heeds not how;
In one thing only unlike thee,—­
Losing itself, it finds no sea.

Albeit I know a day shall come
When its dull waters will be dumb;
And then this river-soul of Me,
Losing itself, shall find the sea.