330. The Immortal Hour

STILL as great waters lying in the West,

So is my spirit still.

I lay my folded hands within Thy breast,

My will within Thy will.

O Fortune, idle pedlar, pass me by.

O Death, keep far from me who cannot die.

The passion-flowers are lacing o’er the sill

Of my low door.—As dews their sweetness fill,

So do I rest in Thee.

It is mine hour. Let none set foot therein.

It is mine hour unflawed of pain or sin.

’Tis laid and steeped in silence, till it be

A solemn dazzling crystal, to outlast

And storm the eyes of poets when long-past

Is all the changing dream of Thee and Me.