Oh God! I cannot help it, but at times
They seem to me too narrow, all the faiths
Of this grown world of ours, whose baby eye
Saw them sufficient. Fool and wise, I fear
This curse, and scorn it. But a little light!--
And on it falls the shadow of the priest;
Heaven yield us more! for better, Woden, all
Our cancell'd warrior-gods, our grim Walhalla,
Eternal war, than that the Saints at peace
The Holiest of our Holiest one should be
This William's fellow-tricksters;--better die
Than credit this, for death is death, or else
Lifts us beyond the lie. Kiss me--thou art not
A holy sister yet, my girl, to fear
There might be more than brother in my kiss,
And more than sister in thine own.
EDITH. I dare not.
HAROLD. Scared by the church--'Love for a whole life long'
When was that sung?
EDITH. Here to the nightingales.
HAROLD. Their anthems of no church, how sweet they are!
Nor kingly priest, nor priestly king to cross
Their billings ere they nest.
EDITH. They are but of spring,
They fly the winter change--not so with us--
No wings to come and go.
HAROLD. But wing'd souls flying
Beyond all change and in the eternal distance
To settle on the Truth.
EDITH. They are not so true,
They change their mates.
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