Synopsis

We are thine, O Love, being in thee and made of thee, As thóu, Lóve, were the déep thóught And we the speech of the thought; yea, spoken are we, Thy fires of thought out-spoken: But burn'd not through us thy imagining Like fiérce móod in a sóng cáught, We were as clamour'd words a fool may fling, Loose words, of meaning broken. For what more like the brainless speech of a fool,— The lives travelling dark fears, And as a boy throws pebbles in a pool Thrown down abysmal places? Hazardous are the stars, yet is our birth And our journeying time theirs; As words of air, life makes of starry earth Sweet soul-delighted faces; As voices are we in the worldly wind; The great wind of the world's fate Is turned, as air to a shapen sound, to mind And marvellous desires. But not in the world as voices storm-shatter'd, Not borne down by the wind's weight; The rushing time rings with our splendid word Like darkness filled with fires. For Love doth use us for a sound of song, And Love's meaning our life wields, Making our souls like syllables to throng His tunes of exultation. Down the blind speed of a fatal world we fly, As rain blown along earth's fields; Yet are...