Chapter XL: Transition

But these recoil in riddles and reserves.-- The dream's untuned. Ah! vanished chords thereof! Ah! keen divisions of the jangled nerves That strung so long the gracious lutes of love!-- Hurry to sell old magian Lamps for new, Though beauty's moonlike domes dissolve and pass: If all things change, ye would be changing too, Crazed hearts that know not your desire, alas! Still, through these wintry treasons that forswear The lovely bitter bondage of our god, Rare perennations of the soul prepare-- And Music yet shall seal the period With some new star,--with sad pure hands unveil For ransomed eyes again the gilded Grail.