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o glory that ever was shed From the crowning star of the seven That crown the north world's head, No word that ever was spoken Of human or godlike tongue, Gave ever such godlike token Since human harps were strung. No sign that ever was given To faithful or faithless eyes Showed ever beyond clouds riven So clear a Paradise. Earth's creeds may be seventy times seven And blood have defiled each creed: If of such be the kingdom of heaven, It must be heaven indeed. XXIII The wind on the downs is bright As though from the sea: And morning and night Take comfort again with me. He is nearer to-day, Each night to each morning saith, Whose return shall revive dead May With the balm of his breath. The sunset says to the moon, He is nearer to-night Whose coming in June Is looked for more than the light. Bird answers to bird, Hour passes the sign on to hour, And for joy of the bright news heard Flower murmurs to flower. The ways that were glad of his feet In the woods that he knew Grow softer to meet The sense of his footfall anew. He is near now as day, Says hope to the new-born light: He is near now as June is to May, Says love to the night. XXIV Good things I keep to console me For lack of the best of all, A child to command and control me, Bid come and remain at his call. Sun, wind, and woodland and highland, Give all that ever they gave: But my world is a cultureless island, My spirit a masterless slave. And friends are about me, and better At summons of no man stand: But I pine for the touch of a fetter, The curb of a strong king's hand. Each hour of the day in her season Is mine to be served as I will: And for no more exquisite reason Are all served idly and ill. By slavery my sense is corrupted, My soul not fit to be free: I would fain be controlled, interrupted, Compelled as a thrall may be. For fault of spur and of bridle I tire of my stall to death: My sail flaps joyless and idle For want of a small child's breath. XXV Whiter and whiter The dark lines grow, And broader opens and brighter The sense of the text b
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