To reach toward God, and, from His shrine 
returning, 
To sing in magic melodies the vast 
Desires of God towards man—O dreams !  O years 
Drowned in these bitter tears ! 
 
I felt the springs of youth within me leaping, 
Let loose my pleasure, never guessed that pain 
Was worth the holding—now, my life is weeping 
Itself away, those agonies to gain 
Which are my one last hope, that by some cross 
Eld may avenge youth’s loss ! 
 
Yet still youth burns !  The hours its pleasure 
wasted 
Compel their bitter memories to grow sweet ; 
Like some warm-perfumed poison if I tasted, 
Felt its fierce savour pulse, and burn, and beat, 
Yet in my veins its sleepy fire might bring 
Strange dreams of some sweet thing. 
 
Half a regret and half a shuddering terror, 
The past lies desolate and yet is here, 
 
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