THIS mood hath known all beauty, for it sees Oâ€™erwhelmed majesties In these pale forms, and kingly crowns of gold On brows no longer bold, And through the shadowy terrors of their hell The love for which they fell, And how desire which cast them in the deep Called God too from His sleep. Oh, Pity, only seer, who looking through A heart melted like dew, Seest the long perished in the present thus, For ever dwell in us. Whatever time thy golden eyelids ope They travel to a hope; Not only backward from these low degrees To starry dynasties, But, looking far where now the silence owns And rules from empty thrones, Thou seest the enchanted hills of heaven burn For joy at our return. Thy tender kiss hath memory we are kings For all our wanderings. Thy shining eyes already see the after In hidden light and laughter.