‘Would it were anything but merely voice！’

    The No King cried who after that was King，

    Because he had not heard of anything

    That balanced with a word is more than noise；

    Yet Old Romance being kind， let him prevail

    Somewhere or somehow that I have forgot，

    Though he‘d but cannon—Whereas we that had thought

    To have lit upon as clean and sweet a tale

    Have been defeated by that pledge you gave

    In momentary¹ anger long ago；

    And I that have not your faith， how shall I know

    That in the blinding light beyond the grave

    We‘ll find so good a thing as that we have lost？

    The hourly kindness， the day‘s common speech，

    The habitual² content of each with each

    When neither soul nor body has been crossed.

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