164 . Grey

LADY of Sorrow! What though laughing blue,

Thy sister, mock men’s anguish, and the sun

Glare like a wrathful judge on many a one

That longs for night his bitter shame to rue,

Yet dost thou grant thy mercy of mist and dew

And cloud and calm ere angry day be done,

Weaving over the vault the weary shun

Thy veil of peace, with pity trembling through.

When all light loves and all brave hues are flown,

When beaten hope falls from the reeling fight,

And life is lone upon her desolate way,

And noon is fierce, and no men see aright,

Then weary eyes turn unto thee, their own,

Lady of Grief, the soul’s madonna, Grey.

Yet not in sorrow only art thou fair,

For joy may know and love thee in the pall

Of spray that slumbers on the waterfall,

Or in low cottage-smoke in evening air

Or in brave stone carven in glory rare,

Or when the tender mists of Autumn fall

Dappling the mead with beauty, and the tall

Stark dreaming oaks thine ancient livery wear.

Yet none hath known thy loveliness aright

Save him who gazing in his lady’s eyes

Sees dim lists tossing with plumes of many a knight

And woods where elfin waters gleam and glance,

And all the vision and faith of old romance

And the great dream of youth that never dies.