Chapter XX

And when the soul has torn the fleshly veil,
And moves majestic to that monotone,
When echo-like upon the air I sail
Whither the wingèd skylark, Faith, has flown,
And borne me fainting upward; then my soul
May seek the God of art which silent, lone,
Broods on a crystal-argent sea, the goal
Of all humanity. Incarnate pain
Is calmed to everlasting peace. There roll
No waves upon the sea. Charmed has it lain
Through incommensurate time; charmed will it lie
Through all eternity; and there again
Upon my soul in silence wrapped, shall sigh,
Most beautiful--a mother's lullaby.

_December, 1912._

_January, 1913._