Chapter 30 30

Lo, every yearning thought that holds a tear,

Yet finds no mission

And lies untold,

Waits, guarded in that labyrinth of gold,-

To reappear

Upon some perfect night,

Deathless-not old-

But sweet with time and distance,

And clothed as in a vision

Of starry brilliance

For the world's delight.

JOHN HENRY CAMPDEN.

Then