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In the Singing, he rose in brassy pride, and she wailed her tear-shroud song, lamenting:

Ah! Thou sad sublime, my lovd!

In Time, he'll ask forgiveness; she'll loving give it. He'll ask aid; she'll trusting furnish forth. When, after many betrayals, he is cast into Night, still he calls, and she answers: Patience!

Patience. He is her torment, her trial, her temperer tempter-teacher, crying: O thou inconsolate, grieve me no more!

He is her Brother Far-fall, to whom she unrelenting faithful gives her name:

I am Mourning, thy heart's guard, and thou shalt never lift my veil!


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