light hands, so strongly tenderly,
Now with dropped calm and yearning
Now swift and loud, tumultuously
And I in darkness, sitting near to thee,
Shall not only hear, and feel, but shall not see,
One hour made passionately bright
Keen glimpses of life’s splendour,
Of what we would, and what we cannot be.
painful ever, yet not glad,
Shall such hours be to me, but
with all yearning and all fact at strife,
Dreams that shine by with unremembered feet,
tones that like far distance make this life
Spectral and wonderful and strangely sad.