I took the left, and for some cause unknown
  Full fraught of hope and joy the way pursued,
Yet chose strong reasons speeding up alone
  To fortify me ’gainst a shock more rude. 
E’en so the diver carrieth down a stone
  In hand, lest he float up before he would,
And end his walk upon the rich sea-floor,
Those pearls he failed to grasp never to look on more.

Then as the low moon heaveth, waxen white,
  The carriage, and it turns into a gate. 
Within sit three in pale pathetic light. 
  O surely one of these my love, my fate. 
But ere I pass they wind away from sight. 
  Then cottage casements glimmer.  All elate
I cross a green, there yawns with opened latch
A village hostel capped in comely thatch.

’The same world made for all is made for each. 
  To match a heart’s magnificence of hope. 
How shall good reason best high action teach
  To win of custom, and with home to cope
How warrantably may he hope to win
  A star, that wants it?  Shall he lie and grope,
No, truly.—­I will see her; tell my tale,
See her this once,—­and if I fail—­I fail.’

Thus with myself I spoke.  A rough brick floor
  Made the place homely; I would rest me there. 
But how to sleep?  Forth of the unlocked door
  I passed at midnight, lustreless white air
Made strange the hour, that ecstasy not o’er
  I moved among the shadows, all my care—­
Counted a shadow—­her drawn near to bless,
Impassioned out of fear, rapt, motionless.

Now a long pool and water-hens at rest
  (As doughty seafolk dusk, at Malabar)
A few pale stars lie trembling on its breast. 
  Hath the Most High of all His host afar
One most supremely beautiful, one best,
  Dearest of all the flock, one favourite star? 
His Image given, in part the children know
They love one first and best.  It may be so.

Now a long hedge; here dream the woolly folk;
  A majesty of silence is about. 
Transparent mist rolls off the pool like smoke,
  And Time is in his trance and night devout. 
Now the still house.  O an I knew she woke
  I could not look, the sacred moon sheds out
So many blessings on her rooftree low,
Each more pathetic that she nought doth know.

I would not love a little, nor my start
  Make with the multitude that love and cease. 
He gives too much that giveth half a heart,
  Too much for liberty, too much for peace. 
Let me the first and best and highest impart,
  The whole of it, and heaven the whole increase! 
For that were not too much.

(In the moon’s wake
How the grass glitters, for her sweetest sake.)

I would toward her walk the silver floors. 
  Love loathes an average—­all extreme things deal
To love—­sea-deep and dazzling height for stores. 
  There are on Fortune’s errant foot can steal,
Can guide her blindfold in at their own doors,
  Or dance elate upon her slippery wheel. 
Courage! there are ’gainst hope can still advance,
Dowered with a sane, a wise extravagance.