42  
WHY JESUS WEPT. 
For ever let us travel so ; 
To stop so sweet a flight were woe. 
Even to stop for love’s own sake ; 
Save my love did it — Then ? well !  well ! 
 
Better to rest together, hard 
Hidden in a corner of the ghyll, 
Some cavern frosted over close, 
Some gully vivid with the rose 
Of love !  The frost our years retard ! 
The rose — perfume our wonder-will ! 
 
But while I sing the moon is up. 
False moon !  False moon !  So fast to ride. 
He is not here !  Sure, he is dead ! 
O moon, reveal that holiest head ! 
There is much sorrow in love’s cup : 
Pleasure goes ever iron-eyed. 
 
Who are these fierce and eager forms 
That face across the untrodden moor, 
The dark-browned horsemen lashing, crying ; 
Urging their weary steeds ?  Half-dying 
The beasts bend bitter to the storm’s 
Assault :  they hunt ?  A man, be sure ! 
 
These figures touch my soul with fear. 
What of my love ?  These caitiffs chase him, 
May be.  Who rides ?  I’ll catch his bridle,