To make the riddling earth grow clear.

Though it were sure and proven well

That I shall prosper, as they tell,

In fields beneath a different sun

By shores where other oceans run,

When this live body that was I

Lies hidden from the cheerful sky,

Yet what were endless lives to me

If still my narrow self I be

And hope and fail and struggle still,

And break my will against God's will,

To play for stakes of pleasure and pain

And hope and fail and hope again,

Deluded, thwarted, striving elf

That through the window of my self

As through a dark glass scarce can see

A warped and masked reality?

But when this searching thought of mine

Is mingled in the large Divine,

And laughter that was in my mouth

Runs through the breezes of the South,

When glory I have built in dreams

Along some fiery sunset gleams,

And my dead sin and foolishness

Grow one with Nature's whole distress,

To perfect being I shall win,

And where I end will Life begin.

XXXVIII. Lullaby

Lullaby! Lullaby!

There's a tower strong and high

Built of oak and brick and stone,

Stands before a wood alone.

The doors are of the oak so brown

As any ale in Oxford town,

The walls are builded warm and thick

Of the old red Roman brick,

The good grey stone is over all

In arch and floor of the tower tall.

And maidens three are living there

All in the upper chamber fair,

Hung with silver, hung with pall,

And stories painted on the wall.

And softly goes the whirring loom

In my ladies' upper room,

For they shall spin both night and day

Until the stars do pass away.

But every night at evening.

The window open wide they fling,

And one of them says a word they know

And out as three white swans they go,

And the murmuring of the woods is drowned

In the soft wings' whirring sound,

As they go flying round, around,

Singing in swans' voices high

A lonely, lovely lullaby.

XXXIX. World's Desire

Love, there is a castle built in a country desolate,

On a rock above a forest where the trees are grim and great,

Blasted with the lightning sharp-giant boulders strewn between,

And the mountains rise above, and the cold ravine

Echoes to the crushing roar and thunder of a mighty river

Raging down a cataract. Very tower and forest quiver

And the grey wolves are afraid and the call of birds is drowned,

And the thought and speech of man in the boiling water's sound.

But upon the further side of the barren, sharp ravine

With the sunlight on its turrets is the castle seen,

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