Against mischances I have shut my ear;
I will not hear the far-off coming doom
Trouble the distance with the sullen boom
Of breakers, crested with their plumes of fear.
On hidden harms, or dangers that appear,
I smile alike. The funeral torch, the tomb,
The vast, impenetrable, central gloom
Of Death itself, unawed, I ventured near.
For I have faith that Love hath such a law,
Within himself, that whoso trusts to him,
Shall find a clew throughout that labyrinth dim;
A silken thread, without a break or flaw,
Like his who in the happy gardens saw,
At last, the golden apples dance and swim.