Kneel the unnumber'd solemn heads
Bow'd with their aureoles:

And Angels, meeting us, shall sing

To their citherns and citoles.

"There will I ask of Christ the Lord

Thus much for him and me:

To have more blessing than on earth
In nowise; but to be

As then we were,—being as then
At peace. Yea, verily.

"Yea, verily; when he is come We will do thus and thus:

Till this my vigil seem quite strange

And almost fabulous;

We two will live at once, one life;
And peace shall be with us."

She gazed, and listen'd, and then said,
Less sad of speech than mild,—
"All this is when he comes."

She ceased:

The light thrill'd past her, fill'd With Angels, in strong level lapsc. Her eyes pray'd, and she smiled.

(I saw her smile.) But soon their flight Was vague 'mid the poised spheres.

And then she cast her arms along

The golden barriers,

And laid her face between her hands,
And wept. (I heard her tears.)

THE MADMAN

By L. A. G. STRONG

I think I'll do a fearful deed
Of wickedness and cruelty,

And then, if Father Walsh speaks truth,
Jesus will weep a tear for me:

And I will catch it in my hat

Just here outside my cabin door,

And put it on my little field
Where nothing ever grew before.

And it will sprout so fine and brave,
That lovely birds with yellow bills
Will come to pluck my crowded corn
From all the Seven Holy Hills.

From HEROD

BY STEPHEN PHILLIPS

Herod speaks:

I dreamed last night of a dome of beaten gold To be a counter-glory to the Sun.

There shall the eagle blindly dash himself,

There the first beam shall strike, and there the moon
Shall aim all night her argent archery;
And it shall be the tryst of sundered stars,
The haunt of dead and dreaming Solomon;
Shall send a light upon the lost in Hell,
And flashings upon faces without hope.-
And I will think in gold and dream in silver,
Imagine in marble and conceive in bronze,
Till it shall dazzle pilgrim nations

And stammering tribes from undiscovered lands,
Allure the living God out of the bliss,
And all the streaming seraphim from heaven.

THE POET'S DREAM

BY PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

On a Poet's lips I slept

Dreaming like a love-adept

In the sound his breathing kept;

Nor seeks nor finds he mortal blisses,

But feeds on the aërial kisses

Of shapes that haunt Thought's wildernesses.
He will watch from dawn to gloom

The lake-reflected sun illume

The yellow bees in the ivy-bloom,

Nor heed nor see what things they be

But from these create he can

Forms more real than living Man,

Nurselings of Immortality!

WHERE IS FANCY BRED?

BY WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

Tell me where is Fancy bred,
Or in the heart or in the head?
How begot, how nourished?
Reply, reply.

It is engender'd in the eyes,
With gazing fed; and Fancy dies
In the cradle where it lies.
Let us all ring Fancy's knell:
I'll begin it,-Ding, dong, bell.
Ding, dong, bell.

FANCY

BY JOHN KEAts

Ever let the Fancy roam,

Pleasure never is at home:

At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth,
Like to bubbles when rain pelteth;

Then let winged Fancy wander

Through the thought still spread beyond her:

Open wide the mind's cage-door,

She'll dart forth, and cloudward soar.

O sweet Fancy! let her loose;
Summer's joys are spoilt by use,
And the enjoying of the Spring
Fades as does its blossoming:

Autumn's red-lipp'd fruitage too,
Blushing through the mist and dew,
Cloys with tasting: What do then?
Sit thee by the ingle, when
The sear faggot blazes bright,
Spirit of a winter's night;

When the soundless earth is muffled,
And the cakèd snow is shuffled
From the ploughboy's heavy shoon;
When the Night doth meet the Noon
In a dark conspiracy

To banish Even from her sky.
Sit thee there, and send abroad,
With a mind self-overawed,
Fancy, high-commission'd:-send her!
She has vassals to attend her:
She will bring, in spite of frost,
Beauties that the earth hath lost;
She will bring thee, all together,
All delights of summer weather;
All the buds and bells of May,
From dewy sward or thorny spray;
All the heaped Autumn's wealth,
With a still, mysterious stealth:
She will mix these pleasures up
Like three fit wines in a cup,

And thou shalt quaff it:-thou shalt hear

Distant harvest-carols clear;

Rustle of the reaped corn;

Sweet birds antheming the morn: