You fell, great Zeus, in rain of gold
When you were fain the maid to hold,
That Danaë a gift might take,
Nor at a god in terror quake.

I.

Once more! And can I mix the past and present
 Close in a single cup of claspéd hands,
Into a single grasp compress the pleasant
 Old memories, the voices of lost lands,
Into a single glance hurl all the passion
 That should have been, that is to be no more,
Then say goodbye to you in common fashion
 And move to meet the lone waves' hollow roar?
Once more to see you—then—I must be dreaming—
  My Lady of the rosebands and the bays,
My sweet hair still divinely downward streaming,

As fyre doth fine and seperate Golde from drosse,
And shews the pure and perfite from the vyle:
Right so is tryde, when nipping stormes doe tosse,
A faythfull friend, from such as meane but guyle.
Whylste Fortune smyles, and thou no wante dost feele,
Of friends no doubt thou shalt haue heaped store,
But if she once doe whyrle aside hir wheele,
They slinke away, as though vnknowne before.
Lyke Doues that leaue the olde and ruynous towre,
And flocking flye to buyldings braue and new:
So fayned friends, when fortune seemes to lowre,

As day by day the void doth greater grow
Between thee and the world, 'tween thee and friends;
As life's wide wintry landscape now extends
Before thee, its chill meadows deep with snow;
As, silently, thou pacest to and fro,
Revolving in thy spirit silent ends;
As over thee the eternal azure bends,
Like love's skies stooping o'er thee long ago;
When things are thus, — when thou dost yearn to hear
Some word from thine own country, where the air
Of softest love once lifted thy brown hair,
Some note of recompence, some sound of cheer, —

If nipping neede L EGITTIMVS constraynde,
in hande to grype the heauie Hammer great:
With which through wante his Princely corps he paynde,
on stythie hard, in V VLCANS trade to beat.
If he (I say) of crowned king the sonne,
by fate was forste such bitter blastes to bide:
Dispaire not thou thy wrackfull race to runne.
for welth as shade from eche estate doth slide.
Pluck vp thy harte, thy hap not yet so harde,
since Princes great haue felt a fall more deepe:
King D IONISE from regall rule debarde,

The wante of Coyne so grypes my brest,
That what to doe I know not best,
I trudge, I toyle, I seeke, I sue,
But aye good hap bids me adue.

A victory at last! and over France
There runs a sound as of a sudden sigh,
A low tumultuous inarticulate cry,
As when one wakeneth with a startled glance
While yet the fiends of some dream-vision dance,
Retaining devilish might to terrify,
Across his brain, and meets the quiet eye
Of watchful woman, sees her steps advance.

And, as he sigheth low for sheer relief,
And longeth for the cool clear lips of day,
So with one victory vanisheth away
From France the nervous nightmare of her grief,

Good-night, my hero! I shall dream of you —
Ah me, how I do love the eventide,
And shadows that across the surface ride
Of the lawn! when you were absent, soldier true,
I heard your voice in every breeze that blew,
And used to shudder at a noise of nights,
And tremble, silly one, at simple sights:
But, now you're here, sweet, everything is new.

I love the lawn that dreary seemed before;
The very moths and bats are friendly things
And seem to wave a greeting in their wings,
And noises of the night alarm no more.

The Golden worlde is past sayth some,
But nowe say I that worlde is come:
Now all things may for Golde be had,
For gayne of Golde, both good and bad.
Now honour hie for Golde is bought,
That earst of greater price was thought.
For Golde the Foole alofte doth rise,
And ofte is plaste aboue the wise.
For Golde the subtile shewe their skill,
For Golde the wicked winne their will.
For Golde who shunnes to wrest a wrong,
And make it seeme as right and strong?
Who spares to pleade as pleaseth thee,
If bring thou doe a golden fee?

Thou shalt draw me: it shall be changed at last.
 I am the stronger now—I have to draw
 Thy soul by some magnetic simple law
Towards mine, till every idol is downcast.
 Then when thy spirit is wholly free from flaw,
Thou shalt draw me; my work will then be past:
Thou shalt allure by thine own yearning vast
 My spirit; and it shall follow, pale with awe.

My ecstasy shall then at last begin,—
 My cup of glorious pleasure shall be full,—
 As into silver waters soft and cool
That purge with many a lovely surge from sin