The ring and the book . ld, — a sense That reads, as only such can read, the mark God sets on woman, signifying so She should — shall peradventure — be divine ; 1485 Yet ware, the while, how weakness mars the print And makes confusion, leaves the thing men see. — Not this man sees, — who from his soul, re-writesThe obliterated charter, — love and strength Mending what s marred. So kneels a votarist, 1490 Weeds some poor waste traditionary plotWhere shrine once was, where temple yet may the place but worshipping the faith and not by sight, sight clearest so, —Such way the sa
The ring and the book . ld, — a sense That reads, as only such can read, the mark God sets on woman, signifying so She should — shall peradventure — be divine ; 1485 Yet ware, the while, how weakness mars the print And makes confusion, leaves the thing men see. — Not this man sees, — who from his soul, re-writesThe obliterated charter, — love and strength Mending what s marred. So kneels a votarist, 1490 Weeds some poor waste traditionary plotWhere shrine once was, where temple yet may the place but worshipping the faith and not by sight, sight clearest so, —Such way the saints work. — says Don Celestine. 1495 But I, not privileged to see a saintOf old when such walked earth with crown and palm,If I call saint what saints call something else —The saints must bear with me. impute the fault. To a soul i the bud. so starved by ignorance, 1500 Stinted of warmth, it will not blow this yearNor recognize the orb which Spring-flowers knowBut if meanwhile some insect with a heart. rOMlILIA. 273 Worth rioods of lazy music, spendthrift joy — Some fire-fiy renounced Spring for my dwarfed cup, 1505 Crept close to me, brought lustre for tlie dark. Comfort against the cold,—what though excess Of comfort should miscall the creature — sun? What did the sun to hinder while harsh hands Petal by petal, crude and colorless, 1510 Tore me? This one heart gave me all the Spring! Is all told? There \s the journe\-: and where s time To tell you how that heart burst out in shine? Yet certain points do press on me too hard. Each place must liave a name, though I forget: 1515 How strange it was — there where the plain begins And the small river mitigates its flow — When eve was fading fast, and my soul sank, And he divined what surge of Ijitterness, In overtaking me. would float me back 1520 Whence I was carried by the striding day — So, — * This gray place was famous once, said he — And he began that legend of the place As if in answer to t
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