Ah, but wherefore beside thee came
That fearful sight of another mood? 
Why in thy light, to thy hand chained,
Towards me its bondage terribly strained,
Why came with thee that dreadful hound,
The wild hound Fear, black, ravenous and gaunt? 
Why him with thee should thy dear light surround? 
Why broughtest thou that beast to haunt
The blissful footsteps of my golden dream?—­
All shadowy black the body dread,
All frenzied fire the head,—­
The hunger of its mouth a hollow crimson flame,
The hatred in its eyes a blaze
Fierce and green, stabbing the ruddy glaze,
And sharp white jetting fire the teeth snarl’d at me,
And white the dribbling rage of froth,—­
A throat that gaped to bay and paws working violently,
Yet soundless all as a winging moth;
Tugging towards me, famishing for my heart;—­
Even while thou, O golden god, wert still
Looking the beautiful kindness of thy will
Into my soul, even then must I be,
With thy bright promise looking at me,
Then bitterly of that hound afraid?—­
Darkness, I know, attendeth bright,
And light comes not but shadow comes: 
And heart must know, if it know thy light,
Thy wild hound Fear, the shadow of love’s delight. 
Yea, is it thus?  Are we so made
Of death and darkness, that even thou,
O golden God of the joys of love,
Thy mind to us canst only prove,
The glorious devices of thy mind,
By so revealing how thy journeying here
Through this mortality, doth closely bind
Thy brightness to the shadow of dreadful Fear?—­
Ah no, it shall not be!  Thy joyous light
Shall hide me from the hunger of fear to-night.

IV

For wonderfully to live I now begin: 
So that the darkness which accompanies
Our being here, is fasten’d up within
The power of light that holdeth me;
And from these shining chains, to see
My joy with bold misliking eyes,
The shrouded figure will not dare arise. 
For henceforth, from to-night,
I am wholly gone into the bright
Safety of the beauty of love: 
Not only all my waking vigours plied
Under the searching glory of love,
But knowing myself with love all satisfied
Even when my life is hidden in sleep;
As high clouds, to themselves that keep
The moon’s white company, are all possest
Silverly with the presence of their guest;
Or as a darken’d room
That hath within it roses, whence the air
And quietness are taken everywhere
Deliciously by sweet perfume.

EPILOGUE

EPILOGUE