Canto XXVI

Still onward winds the dreary way;

      I with it; for I long to prove

      No lapse of moons can canker Love,

Whatever fickle tongues may say.

And if that eye which watches guilt

      And goodness, and hath power to see

      Within the green the moulder'd tree,

And towers fall'n as soon as built—

Oh, if indeed that eye foresee

      Or see (in Him is no before)

      In more of life true life no more,

And Love the indifference to be,

So might I find, ere yet the morn

      Breaks hither over Indian seas,

      That Shadow waiting with the keys,

To shroud me from my proper scorn.