Her Courage
When her soul flies to the predestined dancing-place(I have no speech but symbol, the pagan speech I madeAmid the dreams of youth) let her come face to face,While wondering still to be a shade, with Grania's shadeAll but the perils of the woodland flight forgotThat made her Dermuid dear, and some old cardinalPacing with half-closed eyelids in a sunny spotWho had murmured of Giorgione at his latest breath—Aye and Achilles, Timor, Babar, Barhaim, allWho have lived in joy and laughed into the face of Death.
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