| ‘Would it were anything but merely voice!’ |
| The No King cried who after that was King, |
| Because he had
not heard of anything |
| That balanced with a word is more than noise; |
| Yet Old Romance being kind, let
him prevail |
| Somewhere or somehow that I have forgot, |
| Though he’d but cannon—Whereas we that had
thought |
| To have lit upon as clean and sweet a tale |
| Have been defeated by that pledge you gave |
| In
momentary anger long ago; |
| And I that have not your faith, how shall I know |
| That in the blinding light
beyond the grave |
| We’ll find so good a thing as that we have lost? |
| The hourly kindness, the day’s common
speech, |
| The habitual content of each with each |
| When neither soul nor body has been crossed. |