OLD LETTERS.
155
So warm and deep, or were these of the strong
And patient souls, condemned, though wedded long,
To serve for the other duteously, and wait
Upon a harsher Laban,—Life, that proves
With grievous, stem delays each heart that loves?
O gentle spirits, all your lives on high
Are written fair, but mortal history
Is traced upon the sand that may not keep
The dint of wave, so quick the dash and leap
That follows on—a picture on the wall—
A name upon the stone—a leaf whose green
Less quickly fades, because it once hath been
Within the Dove's soft beak, and this is all.
And patient souls, condemned, though wedded long,
To serve for the other duteously, and wait
Upon a harsher Laban,—Life, that proves
With grievous, stem delays each heart that loves?
O gentle spirits, all your lives on high
Are written fair, but mortal history
Is traced upon the sand that may not keep
The dint of wave, so quick the dash and leap
That follows on—a picture on the wall—
A name upon the stone—a leaf whose green
Less quickly fades, because it once hath been
Within the Dove's soft beak, and this is all.
