Page:The princess; a medley (IA princessmedley00tennrich).pdf/171

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A MEDLEY.
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The long line of the approaching rookery swerveFrom the elms, and shook the branches of the deerFrom slope to slope thro' distant ferns, and rangBeyond the bourn of sunset; O, a shoutMore joyful than the city-roar that hailsPremier or king! Why don't these acred SirsThrow up their parks some dozen times a yearAnd let the people breathe? So thrice they cried,I likewise, and in groups they stream'd away.
 But we went back to the Abbey, and sat on,So much the gathering darkness charm'd: we satSaying little, rapt in nameless reverie,Perchance upon the future man: the wallsBlacken'd about us, bats wheel'd, and owls whoop'd,And gradually the powers of the night,That range above the region of the wind,Deepening the courts of twilight broke them upThro' all the silent spaces of the worlds,Beyond all thought into the Heaven of Heavens.
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