Ulysses: him whose name turns all songs golden,

The wise divine strong soul, whom fate

Could make no less than change and chance beheld him great.

33.

Nor stands the seer who raised him less august

Before us, nor in judgment frail and rathe,

Less constant or less loving or less just,

But fruitful-ripe and full of tender faith,

Holding all high and gentle names in trust

Of time for honour; so his quickening breath

Called from the darkness of their martyred dust

Our sweet Saints Alice and Elizabeth,

Revived and reinspired

With speech from heavenward fired

By love to say what Love the Archangel saith

Only, nor may such word

Save by such ears be heard

As hear the tongues of angels after death

Descending on them like a dove

Has taken all earthly sense of thought away but love.

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