I would have rather felt you round my throat

Pale hands I loved beside the Shalimar. Where are you now? Who lies beneath your spell? Whom do you lead on Rapture's roadway, far, Before you agonise them in farewell?

Less than the weed that grows beside thy door

Less than the dust beneath thy chariot wheel, Less than the rust that never stained thy sword,

The scene was changed. It was a bark that slowly held its way, And o'er its lee the coast of France in the light of evening lay; And on its deck a lady sat, who gazed with tearful eyes Upon the fast receding hills that dim and distant rise.

So All is diff’rent, and yet All is One.

What great Effects from slender Causes flow!