|Date:||Thu, 21 Sep 2006 12:13:33 +0200|
That voice again spoke to her spirit ear. And he, the mighty seer, looked for a moment Upon me as if spirit and sense in him Were sundered. For we are both half fearing and half faining The exquisite anguish of our pierced heart. And, though I make fierce war upon the anarchs, My myrmidons are frail and delicate things.
My love shall be in thine when love is sacrifice.
And to the king She came as bidden by the master of time And spoke. And Armid went more swiftly, wondering If he who had been so many times denied Still waited.
I had been weeping in sleep And all my pillow was a wetness of tears. It is writ, My myriad girlhood, in that printed page.
With one alone he lingers murmuring heart to heart, One infinite, thy love, is life enough for me. And the maiden told Unto that seer what the high king had said. And yet It was thy will made thee heroical And rebel to that joy.
And I was swept, Half laughing and half scornful, to my fate. The master of many arts was heard no more.
And I shall be the vanishing of pain, Said Diancecht. Oh, what heroes, what strong immortal, overcame That ancient evil? All these Old hates changed laughing into loves. For a time The heavenly quest seemed won, the face of earth Turned to the skies.
Now his history runs Backward to the abyss. Still I dreamed of that Rich court so many colored once.
Then the wonder goes from the stones, The lake and the shadowy wood. And when I was Within myself, the angels of wisdom and love Held passionate council in me. The starry shining shapes Through which the lords had utterance vanished. And last of these Immortal voices spake the Son of Lir. Thou only Art real, these, but shadows of immortals.
And yet It was thy will made thee heroical And rebel to that joy. None But the high king and Armid saw the god. Who will go with me to that underworld Where Balor for an iron age hath made Anguish immutable? For a time The heavenly quest seemed won, the face of earth Turned to the skies. O, see our sun is dawning for us, ever dawning With ever youthful and exulting voices. They knew Only the being of the laughing king And had no name for themselves.
All these Old hates changed laughing into loves. Then she groped outward for the mighty gates, And stood there trembling like a moth. If it was so with me, might he not be A hostel for all life? If it was so with me, might he not be A hostel for all life?
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