I falter; I dare not to have failed,
I dare not to have dropped from out the race.

Good was the fight--good, till a piteous dream
Crept from some direful covert of despair;
Showed me your look, that look so true and fair,
Distant and bleak; for me no more to gleam.

Then was I driven back upon my soul,
Then came dark moments; lady, then I drew
Forth from its place the round unfathomed bowl

Of sorrow, and from it I quaffed to you;
Speaking as men speak who have lost
Their hearts' last prize--and dare not count the cost.

UNCHANGED

But you are here unchanged. You say not so
In words, but when you placed your hands in mine;
But when I saw the same old glory shine
Within your eyes, I read it; and I know.

And when those hands ran up along my arm,
And rested on my shoulder for a space,
A sacred inquisition in your face,
To read my heart, how could I doubt that charm,

That truth ineffable!--I set my soul
In hazard to a farthing, that you kept
The faith, with pride unspeakable, the whole

Course of those years in which communion slept.
Your soul flamed in your look; you read; I knew
How little worth was I, how heavenly you.

ABSOLVO TE

I read your truth. You read--What did you read?
Did you read all, and, reading all, forgive?
How I--O little dwarf of conscience sieve
My soul; bare all before her bare indeed!

And, looking on the remnant and the waste,
Can you absolve me,--me, the doubter, one
Who challenged what God spent His genius on,
His genius and His pride; so fair, so chaste?

I am ashamed. . . . And when I told my dreams,
Shaken and humble,--"Dear, there was no cause,"
Your words; proud, sorrowful, as it beseems

Such as thou art. There never was a cause
Why you should honour me. Ashamed am I.
And you forgive me, bless me, for reply.

BENEDICTUS

You bless me, then you turn away your head--
"Never again, dear. I have blessed you so,
My lips upon your lips; between must flow
The river--Oh the river!" Thus you said.

The