184 THE POETRY OF FLOWERS 
Dropp’d from her, fair and mute, 
Close to a poet’s foot, 
Who beheld them, smiling lowly, 
As at something sad yet holy: 
Said “ Verily and thus, 
So chanceth e’er with us. 
Poets, ringing sweetest snatches, 
While deaf did men keep the watcher 
“ Saunting to come before 
Our own age evermore, 
In a loneness, in a loneness, 
And the nobler for that oneness.. 
“ But if alone we be 
Where is our empiry ? 
And if none can reach our stature 
Who will mate our lofty nature f 
“ What bell will yield a tone 
Saving in the air alone ? 
If no brazen clapper bringing, 
Who can bear the chimed ringing f 
s 
“ What angel but would seem 
To sensual eyes glent-dim ? 
And without assimilation, 
Vain is interpenetration! 
