ON THE DEATH OF FRANCIS THOMPSON

I How grandly glow the bays Purpureally enwound With those rich thorns, the brows How infinitely crowned That now thro' Death's dark house Have passed with royal gaze: Purpureally enwound How grandly glow the bays. II Sweet, sweet and three-fold sweet, Pulsing with three-fold pain, Where the lark fails of flight Soared the celestial strain; Beyond the sapphire height Flew the gold-wingèd feet, Beautiful, pierced with pain, Sweet, sweet and three-fold sweet; III And where Is not and Is Are wed in one sweet Name, And the world's rootless vine With dew of stars a-flame Laughs, from those deep divine Impossibilities, Our reason all to shame— This cannot be, but is; IV Into the Vast, the Deep Beyond all mortal sight, The Nothingness that conceived The worlds of day and night, The Nothingness that heaved Pure sides in virgin sleep, Brought out of Darkness, light; And man from out the Deep. V Into that Mystery Let not thine hand be thrust: Nothingness is a world Thy science well may trust ... But lo, a leaf unfurled, Nay, a cry mocking thee From the first grain of dust— I am, yet cannot be! VI Adventuring un-afraid Into that last deep shrine, Must not the child-heart see Its deepest symbol shine, The world's Birth-mystery, Whereto the suns are shade? Lo, the white breast divine— The holy Mother-maid! VII How miss that Sacrifice, That cross of Yea and Nay, That paradox of heaven Whose palms point either way, Through each a nail being driven That the arms out-span the skies And our earth-dust this day Out-sweeten Paradise. VIII We part the seamless robe, Our wisdom would divide The raiment of the King, Our spear is in His side, Even while the angels sing Around our perishing globe, And Death re-knits in pride The seamless purple robe. * * * * IX How grandly glow the bays Purpureally enwound With those rich thorns, the brows How infinitely crowned That now thro' Death's dark house Have passed with royal gaze: Purpureally enwound How grandly glow the bays.