Nay, Spring was o’er happy and knew not the reason,
  And Summer dreamed sadly, for she thought all was ended
  In her fulness of wealth that might not be amended;
But this is the harvest and the garnering season,
  And the leaf and the blossom in the ripe fruit are blended.

It sprang without sowing, it grew without heeding,
  Ye knew not its name and ye knew not its measure,
  Ye noted it not mid your hope and your pleasure;
There was pain in its blossom, despair in its seeding,
  But daylong your bosom now nurseth its treasure.
_

Enter before the curtain LOVE clad as an image-maker.

LOVE

How mighty and how fierce a king is here
The stayer of falling folks, the bane of fear! 
Fair life he liveth, ruling passing well,
Disdaining praise of Heaven and hate of Hell;
And yet how goodly to us Great in Heaven
Are such as he, the waning world that leaven! 
How well it were that such should never die! 
How well it were at least that memory
Of such should live, as live their glorious deeds! 
—­But which of all the Gods think ye it needs
To shape the mist of Rumour’s wavering breath
Into a golden dream that fears no death? 
Red Mars belike?—­since through his field is thrust
The polished plough-share o’er the helmets’ rust!—­
Apollo’s beauty?—­surely eld shall spare
Smooth skin, and flashing eyes, and crispy hair!—­
Nay, Jove himself?—­the pride that holds the low
Apart, despised, to mighty tales must grow!—­
Or Pallas?—­for the world that knoweth nought,
By that great wisdom to the wicket brought,
Clear through the tangle evermore shall see! 
—­O Faithful, O Beloved, turn to ME! 
I am the Ancient of the Days that were
I am the Newborn that To-day brings here,
I am the Life of all that dieth not;
Through me alone is sorrow unforgot.

My Faithful, knowing that this man should live,
I from the cradle gifts to him did give
Unmeet belike for rulers of the earth;
As sorrowful yearning in the midst of mirth,
Pity midst anger, hope midst scorn and hate. 
Languor midst labour, lest the day wax late,
And all be wrong, and all be to begin. 
Through these indeed the eager life did win
That was the very body to my soul;
Yet, as the tide of battle back did roll
Before his patience:  as he toiled and grieved
O’er fools and folly, was he not deceived,
But ever knew the change was drawing nigh,
And in my mirror gazed with steadfast eye. 
Still, O my Faithful, seemed his life so fair
That all Olympus might have left him there
Until to bitter strength that life was grown,
And then have smiled to see him die alone,
Had I not been.——­Ye know me; I have sent
A pain to pierce his last coat of content: 
Now must he tear the armour from his breast
And cast aside all things that men deem best,
And single-hearted for his longing strive
That he at last may save his soul alive.