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Wake her not up, my beloved. Strange that she does not stir !
" Heroes exult in the conflict, and madmen rush forth and die.
Neither a hero nor madman — alas for my state ! — am I ;
Something of clearness of vision doth dawn on my eyes from far,
Nothing of clearness of action agrees with the things that are.
Wake her not up, my beloved ; pillow the dainty head.
" Life, with its broken endeavours, seems sometimes like rotten fruit,
Only the worse for the sunshine of heaven that does not suit ;
Plant-like, we need lie in darkness before we translated be,
Hades must rest us for ages ere we shall the glory see.
Wake her not up, my beloved. Merciful God ! she is dead."
" Mark, you are ill ! " said Agnes suddenly.
He answered low, " No, dear, a little tired,