At eve to make demur 
That I be minister 
To Cynthia maidenly : 
All night I have watched her sail through a black 
and silver sky. 
 
Within my soul there fight 
Two full and urgent streams, 
Work’s woe and dream’s delight : 
Like snow and sun they smite, 
Days battle hard with dreams : 
On a world of misty beauty the Aurora clearly 
beams. 
 
So labour fought with pride, 
And love with idleness, 
My soul was torn and tried 
With the impassioned tide 
Of storm and deathly stress— 
I had never dreamed a lily should arise amid the 
press. 
 
Yet such a flower sprang here 
Within this soul of mine, 
78