—     5     — 
 
Caught in the glamour of the sun, 
Thought all the woe well won. 
How hours were days, and all the misery 
Abode, all mine :  O thou !  didst thou regret ? 
Wast thou asleep as I ? 
Didst thou not love me yet ? 
For, know !  the moon is not the moon until 
She hath the knowledge to fulfil 
Her music, till she know herself the moon. 
So thou, so I !  The stone unhewn, 
Foursquare, the sphere, of human hands immune, 
Was not yet chosen for the corner-piece 
And key-stone of the Royal Arch of Sex ; 
Unsolved the ultimate x ; 
The virginal breeding breeze 
Was yet of either unstirred ; 
Unspoken the Great Word. 
 
Then on a sudden, we knew.  From deep to deep 
Reverberating, lightning unto lightning 
Across the sundering brightening 
Abyss of sorrow’s sleep, 
There shone the sword of love, and stuck, and clove 
The intolerable veil, 
The woven chain of mail 
Prudence self-called, and folly known to who 
May know.  Then, O sweet drop of dew, 
Thy limpid light rolled over and was lost