Heard hardly, some of her new friends,
    Playing at holy games,
  Spake, gentle-mouthed, among themselves,
    Their virginal chaste names;
  And the souls, mounting up to God,
    Went by her like thin flames.

  And still she bowed herself, and stooped
    Into the vast waste calm;
  Till her bosom’s pressure must have made
    The bar she leaned on warm,
  And the lilies lay as if asleep
    Along her bended arm.

  From the fixt lull of heaven, she saw
    Time, like a pulse, shake fierce
  Through all the worlds.  Her gaze still strove,
    In that steep gulph, to pierce
  The swarm:  and then she spake, as when
    The stars sang in their spheres.

  “I wish that he were come to me,
    For he will come,” she said. 
  “Have I not prayed in solemn heaven? 
    On earth, has he not prayed? 
  Are not two prayers a perfect strength? 
    And shall I feel afraid?

  “When round his head the aureole clings,
    And he is clothed in white,
  I’ll take his hand, and go with him
    To the deep wells of light,
  And we will step down as to a stream
    And bathe there in God’s sight.

  “We two will stand beside that shrine,
    Occult, withheld, untrod,
  Whose lamps tremble continually
    With prayer sent up to God;
  And where each need, revealed, expects
    Its patient period.

  “We two will lie i’ the shadow of
    That living mystic tree
  Within whose secret growth the Dove
    Sometimes is felt to be,
  While every leaf that His plumes touch
    Saith His name audibly.

  “And I myself will teach to him—­
    I myself, lying so,—­
  The songs I sing here; which his mouth
    Shall pause in, hushed and slow,
  Finding some knowledge at each pause
    And some new thing to know.”

  (Alas! to her wise simple mind
    These things were all but known
  Before:  they trembled on her sense,—­
    Her voice had caught their tone. 
  Alas for lonely Heaven!  Alas
    For life wrung out alone!

Alas, and though the end were reached?........ 
Was thy part understood
Or borne in trust?  And for her sake
Shall this too be found good?—­
May the close lips that knew not prayer
Praise ever, though they would?)

  “We two,” she said, “will seek the groves
    Where the lady Mary is,
  With her five handmaidens, whose names
    Are five sweet symphonies:—­
  Cecily, Gertrude, Magdalen,
    Margaret, and Rosalys.

  “Circle-wise sit they, with bound locks
    And bosoms covered;
  Into the fine cloth, white like flame,
    Weaving the golden thread,
  To fashion the birth-robes for them
    Who are just born, being dead.

  “He shall fear haply, and be dumb. 
    Then I will lay my cheek
  To his, and tell about our love,
    Not once abashed or weak: 
  And the dear Mother will approve
    My pride, and let me speak.