myriad voice of One. 
Those who are lost and fallen here, to-night in sleep shall pass the gate,
And wear the purples of the King, and know them masters of their fate. 
Each wrinkled hag shall reassume the plumes and hues of paradise: 
Each brawler be enthroned in calm among the Children of the Wise. 
Yet in the council with the gods no one will falter to pursue
His lofty purpose, but come forth the cyclic labours to renew;
And take the burden of the world and dim his beauty in a shroud,
And wrestle with the chaos till the anarch to the light be bowed. 
We cannot for forgetfulness forego the reverence due to them
Who wear at times they do not guess the sceptre and the diadem. 
As bright a crown as this was theirs when first they from the Father sped;
Yet look with deeper eyes and still the ancient beauty is not dead. 
He mingled with the multitude.  I saw their brows were crowned and bright,
A light around the shadowy heads, a shadow round the head of light.

RECALL

    What call may draw thee back again,
    Lost dove, what art, what charm may please? 
    The tender touch, the kiss, are vain,
    For thou wert lured away by these.

    Oh, must we use the iron hand,
    And mask with hate the holy breath,
    With alien voice give love’s command,
    As they through love the call of death?

BLINDNESS

    Our true hearts are forever lonely: 
    A wistfulness is in our thought: 
    Our lights are like the dawns which only
    Seem bright to us and yet are not.

    Something you see in me I wis not: 
    Another heart in you I guess: 
    A stranger’s lips—­but thine I kiss not,
    Erring in all my tenderness.

    I sometimes think a mighty lover
    Takes every burning kiss we give: 
    His lights are those which round us hover: 
    For him alone our lives we live.

    Ah, sigh for us whose hearts unseeing
    Point all their passionate love in vain,
    And blinded in the joy of being,
    Meet only when pain touches pain.

BROTHERHOOD

    Twilight, a blossom grey in shadowy valleys dwells: 
    Under the radiant dark the deep blue-tinted bells
    In quietness reimage heaven within their blooms,
    Sapphire and gold and mystery.  What strange perfumes,
    Out of what deeps arising, all the flower-bells fling,
    Unknowing the enchanted odorous song they sing! 
    Oh, never was an eve so living yet:  the wood
    Stirs not but breathes enraptured quietide. 
    Here in these shades the Ancient knows itself, the Soul,
    And out of slumber waking starts unto the goal. 
    What bright companions nod and go along with it! 
    Out of the teeming dark what dusky creatures flit,
    That through the long leagues