Lxiii

Bid them good-by before last friend has sung and supped! Because we pick our path and need our eyes,--abrupt Descent enough,--but here 's the beach, and there 's the bay, And, opposite, the streak of Île Noirmoutier. Thither the waters tend; they freshen as they haste, At feel o' the night-wind, though, by cliff and cliff embraced, This breadth of blue retains its self-possession still; As you and I intend to do, who take our fill Of sights and sounds--soft sound, the countless hum and skip Of insects we disturb, and that good fellowship Of rabbits our footfall sends huddling, each to hide He best knows how and where; and what whirred past, wings wide? That was, an owl, their young may justlier apprehend! Though you refuse to speak, your beating heart, my friend, I feel against my arm,--though your bent head forbids A look into your eyes, yet, on my cheek, their lids That ope and shut, soft send a silken thrill the same. Well, out of all and each these nothings, comes--what came Often enough before, the something that would aim Once more at the old mark: the impulse to at last Succeed where hitherto was failure in the past, And yet again essay the adventure. Clearlier sings No bird to its couched corpse, "Into the truth of things-- Out of their falseness rise, and reach thou, and remain!