That strange-eyed spirit-wounded strange-tongued slave

There questing houndlike where the roofs red-wet

Reeked as a wet red grave.

Life everlasting has their strange grace given thee,

Even hers whom thou wast wont to sing and serve

With eyes, but not with song, too swift to swerve;

Yet might not even thine eyes estranged estrange her,

Who seeing thee too, but inly, burn and bleed

Like that pale princess-priest of Priam's seed,

For stranger service gave thee guerdon stranger;

[Pg 317]

If this indeed be guerdon, this indeed

Her mercy, this thy meed—

That thou, being more than all we born, being higher

Than all heads crowned of him that only gives

The light whereby man lives,

The bay that bids man moved of God's desire

Lay hand on lute or lyre,

Set lip to trumpet or deflowered green reed—

If this were given thee for a grace indeed,

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