nature on this quicksand, And by surhuman fates Given to mortal state To be a sign and an hope made secure Of blissful kingdoms and the aureate spheres; And on the morrow, by some lightsome twist, Shameful in sight, abject, abominable All this angelic aspect can return And be but what it was With all the admirable concepts that moved from it Swept from the mind with it in its departure. Infinite things desired, lofty visions 'Got on desirous thought by natural virtue, And the wise concord, whence through delicious seas The arcane spirit of the whole Mankind Turns hardy pilot ... and if one wrong note Strike the tympanum, Instantly That paradise is hurled to nothingness. O mortal nature, If thou art Frail and so vile in all, How canst thou reach so high with thy poor sense; Yet if thou art Noble in any part How is the noblest of thy speech and thought So lightly wrought Or to such base occasion lit and quenched? VICTORIAN ECLOGUES I EXCUSES Ah would you turn me back now from the flowers, You who are different as the air from sea is, Ah for the pollen from our wreath of hours, You who are magical, not mine as she is, Say will you call us from our time of flowers? You whom I loved and love, not understanding, Yea we were ever torn with constant striving, Seeing our gods are different, and commanding One good from them, and in my heart reviving Old discords and bent thought, not understanding. We who have wept, we who have lain together Upon the green and sere and white of every season, We who have loved the sun but for the weather Of our own hearts have found no constant reason, What is your part, now we have come together? What is your pain, Dear, what is your heart now A little sad, a little.... Nay, I know not Seeing I never had and have no part now In your own secret councils wherein blow not My roses. My vineyard being another heart now? You who were ever dear and dearer being strange, How shall I "go" who never came anear you? How could I stay, who never came in range Of anything that halved; could never hear you Rightly in your silence; nay, your very speech was strange. You, who have loved not what I was or will be, You who but loved me for a thing I could be, You who love not a song whate'er its skill be But only love the cause or what cause should be, How could I give you what I am or will be? Nay, though your eyes are sad, you will not hinder, You, who would have had me only near not nearer, Nay though my heart had burned to a bright cinder Love would have said to me: "Still fear her, Pain is thy lot and naught she hath can hinder,"  So I, for this sad gladness that is mine now, Who never spoke aright in speaking to you, Uncomprehending anything that's thine now, E'en in my spoken words more wrong may do you In looking back 

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