Stories

I lived with visions for my company, 
Instead of men and women, years ago,
And found them gentle mates, nor thought to know
A sweeter music than they played to me. 
But soon their trailing purple was not free 
Of this world’s dust,— their lutes did silent grow, 
And I myself grew faint and blind below 
Their vanishing eyes. Then THOU didst come … to be, 
Beloved, what they seemed. Their shining fronts,
Their songs, their splendours, (better, yet the same, 
As river-water hallowed into fonts)
Met in thee, and from out thee overcame 
My soul with satisfaction of all wants —
Because God’s gifts put man’s best dreams to shame.