Values
Till darkness lays a hand on these gray eyesAnd out of man my ghost is sent alone,It is my chance to know that force and sizeAre nothing but by answered undertone.No beauty even of absolute perfectionDominates here—the glance, the pause, the guessMust be my amulets of resurrection;Raindrops may murder, lightnings may caress.
There I was tortured, but I cannot grieve;There crowned and palaced—visibles deceive.That storm of belfried cities in my mindLeaves me my vespers cool and eglantined.From love's wide-flowering mountain-side I choseThis sprig of green, in which an angel shows.
67
