VII.

Shapes of brightness overlean thee, Flash their diadems of youth On the ringlets which half screen thee, While thou smilest ... not in sooth _Thy_ smile, but the overfair one, dropt from some etherial mouth.

Haply it is angels' duty, During slumber, shade by shade To fine down this childish beauty To the thing it must be made Ere the world shall bring it praises, or the tomb shall see it fade.

Softly, softly! make no noises! Now he lieth dead and dumb; Now he hears the angels' voices Folding silence in the room Now he muses deep the meaning of the Heaven-words as they come.

Speak not! he is consecrated; Breathe no breath across his eyes: Lifted up and separated On the hand of God he lies In a sweetness beyond touching, held in cloistral sanctities.

Could ye bless him, father--mother, Bless the dimple in his cheek? Dare ye look at one another And the benediction speak? Would ye not break out in weeping and confess yourselves too weak?