ON Ararat there grew a vine,

When Asia from her bathing tose;

Our first sailor made a twine

Thereof for his prefiguring brows.

Canst divine

Where, upon our dusty earth, of that vine a cluster

gròws ?

On Golgotha there grew a thorn

Round the long-prefigured Brows.

Mourn, O mourn !

For the vine have we the spine? Is this all the Heaven


On Calvary was shook a spear;

Press the point into thy heart-

Joy and f ear !

All the spines upon the thorn into curling tendrils


O dismay!

I, a wingless mortai, sporting

With the tresses of the sun?

I, that dare my hand to lay

On the thunder in its snorting ?

Ere begun,

Falls my singed song down the sky, even the old Icarian


From the fall précipitant

Thèse dim snatches of her chant*

Only have remainèd mine;-

That from spear and thorn alone

May be grown

For the front of saint or singer an y divinìzuig twine.

Her song said that no springing

Paradise but evermore

Hangeth on a singing

That has chords of weeping,

And that sings the after-sleeping

To souls which wake too sore.

"But woe the singer, woe!" she said; "beyond the dead

his singing-lore, .

All its art of sweet and sore,

He learns, in Elenore!"

Where is the land of Luthany,

Where is the tract of Elenore?

I am bound therefore.

" Pierce thy heart to find the key;

With thee take

Only what none else would keep;

Learn to dream when thou dost wake,

Learn to wake when thou dost sleep,

Learn to water joy with tears,

Learn from fears to vanquish fears;

To hope, for thou dar'st not despair,

*The chant of the Mistress of Vision, whom, in her secret garden, the Poet has earlier described.

Exult, for that thou dar'st not grieve;

Plough thou the rock until it bear;

Know, for thou else couldst not believe;

Lose, that the lost thou may'st receive;

Die, for none other way canst live,

When earth and heaven lay down their veil,

And that apocalypse turns thee pale;

When thy seeing blindeth thee

To what thy fellow-mortals see;

When their sight to thee is sightless;

Their living, death; their light, most lightleso,

Search no more-

Pass the gates of Luthany, tread the région Elenore."

Where is the land of Luthany,

And where the région Elenore?

I do faint therefor.

" When to the new eyes of thee

All things by immortal power,

Near or far,


To each other linkèd are,

That thou canst not stir a flower

Without troubling of a star;

When thy song is shield and mirror

To the fair snake-curlèd Pain,

Where thou dar'st affront her terror

That on her thou may'st attain

Perséan conquest; seek no more,

O seek no more !

Pass the gates of Luthany, tread the région Elenore."

So sang she, so wept she,

Through a dream-night's day;

And with her magic singing kept she-

Mystical in music-

That garden of enchanting

In visionary May;

Swayless for my spirita haunting,

Thrice-threefold walled with emerald from our mortai

mornihgs grey.