Never by lapse of time
   The soul defaced by crime
Into its former self returns again;
   For every guilty deed
   Holds in itself the seed
Of retribution and undying pain.

   Never shall be the loss
   Restored, till Helios
Hath purified them with his heavenly fires;
   Then what was lost is won,
   And the new life begun,
Kindled with nobler passions and desires.

THE HANGING OF THE CRANE

I

The lights are out, and gone are all the guests
That thronging came with merriment and jests
  To celebrate the Hanging of the Crane
In the new house,—­into the night are gone;
But still the fire upon the hearth burns on,
    And I alone remain.

  O fortunate, O happy day,
  When a new household finds its place
  Among the myriad homes of earth,
  Like a new star just sprung to birth,
  And rolled on its harmonious way
  Into the boundless realms of space!

So said the guests in speech and song,
As in the chimney, burning bright,
We hung the iron crane to-night,
And merry was the feast and long.

II

And now I sit and muse on what may be,
And in my vision see, or seem to see,
  Through floating vapors interfused with light,
Shapes indeterminate, that gleam and fade,
As shadows passing into deeper shade
    Sink and elude the sight.

For two alone, there in the hall,
As spread the table round and small;
Upon the polished silver shine
The evening lamps, but, more divine,
The light of love shines over all;
Of love, that says not mine and thine,
But ours, for ours is thine and mine.

They want no guests, to come between
Their tender glances like a screen,
And tell them tales of land and sea,
And whatsoever may betide
The great, forgotten world outside;
They want no guests; they needs must be
Each other’s own best company.

III

The picture fades; as at a village fair
A showman’s views, dissolving into air,
  Again appear transfigured on the screen,
So in my fancy this; and now once more,
In part transfigured, through the open door
  Appears the selfsame scene.

Seated, I see the two again,
But not alone; they entertain
A little angel unaware,
With face as round as is the moon;
A royal guest with flaxen hair,
Who, throned upon his lofty chair,
Drums on the table with his spoon,
Then drops it careless on the floor,
To grasp at things unseen before.