With vision of our prophecy assured: 
Suddenly white was the moon; but she
At once did on a woven modesty
Of cloud, and soon went in obscured: 
And we were dark, and vanisht that strange hill. 
But yet it was not long before
There opened in the sky a narrow door,
Made with pearl lintel and pearl sill;
And the earth’s night seem’d pressing there,—­
All as a beggar on some festival would peer,—­
To gaze into a room of light beyond,
The hidden silver splendour of the moon. 
Yea, and we also, we
Long gazed wistfully
Towards thee, O morning, come at last,
And towards the light that thou wilt pour upon us soon!

II

O soul who still art strange to sense,
Who often against beauty wouldst complain,
Doubting between joy and pain: 
If like the startling touch of something keen
Against thee, it hath been
To follow from an upland height
The swift sun hunting rain
Across the April meadows of a plain,
Until the fields would flash into the air
Their joyous green, like emeralds alight;
Or when in the blue of night’s mid-noon
The burning naked moon
Draws to a brink of cloudy weather near,
A breadth of snow, firm and soft as a wing,
Stretcht out over a wind that gently goes,—­
Through the white sleep of snowy cloud there grows
An azure-border’d shining ring,
The gleaming dream of the approaching joy of her;—­
What now wilt thou do, Soul?  What now,
If with such things as these troubled thou wert? 
How wilt thou now endure, or how
Not now be strangely hurt?—­
When utter beauty must come closer to thee
Than even anger or fear could be;
When thou, like metal in a kiln, must lie
Seized by beauty’s mightily able flame;
Enjoyed by beauty as by the ruthless glee
Of an unescapable power;
Obeying beauty as air obeys a cry;
Yea, one thing made of beauty and thee,
As steel and a white heat are made the same! 
—­Ah, but I know how this infirmity
Will fail and be not, no, not memory,
When I begin the marvellous hour. 
This only is my heart’s strain’d eagerness,
Long waiting for its bliss.—­
But from those other fears, from those
That keep to Love so close,
From fears that are the shadow of delight,
Hide me, O joys; make them unknown to-night!

III

Thou bright God that in dream earnest to me last night,
Thou with the flesh made of a golden light,
Knew I not thee, thee and thy heart,
Knew I not well, God, who thou wert? 
Yea, and my soul divinely understood
The light that was beneath thee a ground,
The golden light that cover’d thee round,
Turning my sleep to a fiery morn,
Was as a heavenly oath there sworn
Promising me an immortal good: 
Well I knew thee, God of Marriages, thee and thy flame!