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A CLASP OF HANDS I Soft, small, and sweet as sunniest flowers That bask in heavenly heat When bud by bud breaks, breathes, and cowers, Soft, small, and sweet. A babe's hands open as to greet The tender touch of ours And mock with motion faint and fleet The minutes of the new strange hours That earth, not heaven, must mete; Buds fragrant still from heaven's own bowers, Soft, small, and sweet. II A velvet vice with springs of steel That fasten in a trice And clench the fingers fast that feel A velvet vice-- What man would risk the danger twice, Nor quake from head to heel? Whom would not one such test suffice? Well may we tremble as we kneel In sight of Paradise, If both a babe's closed fists conceal A velvet vice. III Two flower-soft fists of conquering clutch, Two creased and dimpled wrists, That match, if mottled overmuch, Two flower-soft fists-- What heart of man dare hold the lists Against such odds and such Sweet vantage as no strength resists? Our strength is all a broken crutch, Our eyes are dim with mists, Our hearts are prisoners as we touch Two flower-soft fists. PROLOGUE TO DOCTOR FAUSTUS Light, as when dawn takes wing and smites the sea, Smote England when his day bade Marlowe be. No fire so keen had thrilled the clouds of time Since Dante's breath made Italy sublime. Earth, bright with flowers whose dew shone soft as tears, Through Chaucer cast her charm on eyes and ears: The lustrous laughter of the love-lit earth Rang, leapt, and lightened in his might of mirth. Deep moonlight, hallowing all the breathless air, Made earth and heaven for Spenser faint and fair. But song might bid not heaven and earth be one Till Marlowe's voice gave warning of the sun. Thought quailed and fluttered as a wounded bird Till passion fledged the wing of Marlowe's word. Faith born of fear bade hope and doubt be dumb Till Marlowe's pride bade light or darkness come. Then first our speech was thunder: then our song Shot lightning through the clouds that wrought us wrong. Blind fear, whose faith feeds hell with fire, became
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