Bearing a pack of loveliness and pain:
The golden exultation of the grain
And the last, sacred whisper of the rose


VIII

But if in some enchanted garden bloom
The rose imperial that will not fade,
Ah! shall I go with desecrating spade
And underneath her glories build a tomb?


IX

Shall I that am as dust upon the plain
Think with unloosened hurricanes to fight?
Or shall I that was ravished from the night
Fall on the bosom of the night again?


X

Endure! and if you rashly would unfold
That manuscript whereon our lives are traced,
Recall the stream which carols thro' the waste
And in the dark is rich with alien gold.


XI