.
I turned and saw below
The same shape twisted on the banister
Under the vapour in the fetid air
Struggling with the devil of the stairs who wears
The deceitul face of hope and of despair.
.
At the second turning of the second stair
I left them twisting, turning below;
There were no more faces and the stair was dark,
Damp, jaggèd, like an old man's mouth drivelling, beyond
repair,
Or the toothed gullet of an agèd shark.
.
At the first turning of the third stair
Was a slotted window bellied like the figs's fruit
And beyond the hawthorn blossom and a pasture scene
The broadbacked figure drest in blue and green
Enchanted the maytime with an antique flute.
Blown hair is sweet, brown hair over the mouth blown,
Lilac and brown hair;
Distraction, music of the flute, stops and steps of the mind
over the third stair,
Fading, fading; strength beyond hope and despair
Climbing the third stair.
.
Lord, I am not worthy
Lord, I am not worthy
but speak the word only.
.
IV.
Who walked between the violet and the violetWhe walked between
The various ranks of varied green
Going in white and blue, in Mary's colour,
Talking of trivial things
In ignorance and knowledge of eternal dolour
Who moved among the others as they walked,
Who then made strong the fountains and made fresh the springs
.
Made cool the dry rock and made firm the sandIn blue of larkspur, blue of Mary's colour,
Sovegna vos
.
Here are the years that walk between, bearingAway the fiddles and the flutes, restoring
One who moves in the time between sleep and waking, wearing
.
White light folded, sheathing about her, folded.The new years walk, restoring
Through a bright cloud of tears, the years, restoring
With a new verse the ancient rhyme. Redeem
The time. Redeem
The unread vision in the higher dream
While jewelled unicorns draw by the gilded hearse.
.
The silent sister veiled in white and blueBetween the yews, behind the garden god,
Whose flute is breathless, bent her head and signed but spoke
no word
.
But the fountain sprang up and the bird sang down
Redeem the time, redeem the dream
The token of the word unheard, unspoken
.
Till the wind shake a thousand whispers from the yew
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