Page:Poems Barrett.djvu/158

"Why, what is this patient entrance into nature's deep resources,
But the child's most gradual learning to walk straightly without bane—?
When we drive out, from the cloud of steam, majestical white horses,
Are we greater than the first men, who led black ones by the mane.

"If we sided with the eagles, if we struck the stars in rising,
If we wrapped the globe intensely, with one hot electric breath,
'Twere but power within our tether—no new spirit-power conferring—
And in life we were not greater men, nor bolder men in death."

She was patient with my talking; and I loved her—loved her certes,
As I loved all Heavenly objects, with uplifted eyes and hands!
As I loved pure inspirations—loved the graces, loved the virtues,—
In a Love content with writing his own name, on desert sands.

Or at least I thought so purely!—thought, no idiot Hope was raising
Any crown to crown Love's silence—silent Love that sate alone—
Out, alas! the stag is like me—he, that tries to go on grazing
With the great deep gun-wound in his neck, then reels with sudden moan.

It was thus I reeled! I told you that her hand had many suitors—
But she rose above them, smiling down, as Venus down the waves—
And with such a gracious coldness, that they could not press their futures
On that present of her courtesy, which yieldingly enslaves.