II.

  What?  To fix me thus meant nothing?  But I can’t tell (there’s my
          weakness)
  What her look said!—­no vile cant, sure, about “need to strew the
          bleakness
  Of some lone shore with its pearl-seed, that the sea feels”—­no
          “strange yearning
  That such souls have, most to lavish where there’s chance of least
          returning”.

  III.

  Oh, we’re sunk enough here, God knows! but not quite so sunk that
          moments,
  Sure tho’ seldom, are denied us, when the spirit’s true endowments
  Stand out plainly from its false ones, and apprise it if pursuing
  Or the right way or the wrong way, to its triumph or undoing.

  IV.

  There are flashes struck from midnights, there are fire-flames
          noondays kindle,
  Whereby piled-up honours perish, whereby swollen ambitions dwindle,
  While just this or that poor impulse, which for once had play unstifled,
  Seems the sole work of a life-time that away the rest have trifled.

  V.

  Doubt you if, in some such moment, as she fixed me, she felt clearly,
  Ages past the soul existed, here an age ’tis resting merely,
  And hence fleets again for ages:  while the true end, sole and single,
  It stops here for is, this love-way, with some other soul to mingle?

  VI.

  Else it loses what it lived for, and eternally must lose it;
  Better ends may be in prospect, deeper blisses (if you choose it),
  But this life’s end and this love-bliss have been lost here.  Doubt you
          whether
  This she felt as, looking at me, mine and her souls rushed together?

  VII.

  Oh, observe!  Of course, next moment, the world’s honours, in derision,
  Trampled out the light for ever.  Never fear but there’s provision
  Of the devil’s to quench knowledge, lest we walk the earth in rapture! 
  —­Making those who catch God’s secret, just so much more prize their
          capture!

  VIII.

  Such am I:  the secret’s mine now!  She has lost me, I have gained her;
  Her soul’s mine:  and thus, grown perfect, I shall pass my life’s
          remainder. 
  Life will just hold out the proving both our powers, alone and blended: 
  And then, come next life quickly!  This world’s use will have been ended.

LXVII.  THE LOST LEADER.

    From Dramatic Lyrics; written in 1845.

  I.

  Just for a handful of silver he left us,
    Just for a riband to stick in his coat—­
  Found the one gift of which fortune bereft us,
    Lost all the others, she lets us devote;
  They, with the gold to give, doled him out silver,
    So much was theirs who so little allowed: 
  How all our copper had gone for his service! 
    Rags—­were they purple, his heart had been proud!