Chapter VII

And there strange faces drove my lonely thoughts
Back into memory for companionship
And there imagination moved anon
To fill the void love felt in earth about,
Invoking fancies where it found no facts,
Beheld an earth about that seemed bewitch’d.

If Haydn’s presence had my love call’d forth,
His absence, thus conjured, (could it do else?)
call’d forth my worship. You remember, friend,
Those heroes of old Rome appear’d not gods
Till all were dead and veil’d from mortal eyes.
And so with Haydn was it, and his world,—
These never had appear’d so fill’d with light
As when so far from me. The slightest hint
Of home, that made me think this home was his,
Made all things there as bright as heaven itself;—
Yes, yes, though heaven so very bright must be!—
For even here the past is bright; and there,
Up there, we faith shall have, such perfect faith,
That none can longer fear the future. No:
As restful shall it seem as now the past;
And then with all things bright, behind, before,
Where could a place for gloom be? Even here,
Could gloom be found if only men had faith?