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Love’s Treasure-house.
175
But my heart shall wind About Thee in this secret place,To leave all shadows far behind, And gather all thy sweetness, Grace,Into the chambers of the mind.

Hubert Church.

CXIII.

Love’s Treasure-house.

I went to Love’s old Treasure-house last night,Through soundless halls of the great Tower of Time,And saw the miser Memory, grown greyWith years of jealous counting of his gems,At his old task within the solitude.By a faint taper the deep-furrowed face,Heavy with power, lay shadowed on the wall—Shadow and shadowy face communing there—While the lean flame a living spear-point leapedWith menace at the night’s dark countenance.
 “And this,” he said, “is gold from out her hair,And this the moonlight that she wandered in,With here a rose, enamelled by her breath,That bloomed in glory ’tween her breasts, and hereThe brimming sun-cup that she quaffed at noon,And here the star that cheered her in the night;In this great chest, see curiously wrought,Are purest of Love’s gems.” A ruby key,Enclasped upon a golden ring, he took,With care, from out some secret hiding-place,
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