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Unappeased by the wordless offering of her days, Lifting to them her sorrow like frankincense, Her life the altar, herself the sacrifice. Yet ever they grew into each other more Until it seemed no power could rend apart, Since even the body's walls could not divide. For when he wandered in the forest, oft Her conscious spirit walked with him and knew His actions as if in herself he moved; He, less aware, thrilled with her from afar. Always the stature of her passion grew; Grief, fear became the food of mighty love. Increased by its torment it filled the whole world; It was all her life, became her whole earth and heaven. Although life-born, an infant of the hours, Immortal it walked unslayable as the gods: Her spirit stretched measureless in strength divine, An anvil for the blows of Fate and Time: Or tired of sorrow's passionate luxury, Grief's self became calm, dull-eyed, resolute, Awaiting some issue of its fiery struggle, Some deed in which it might for ever cease, Victorious over itself and death and tears. The year now paused upon the brink of change. No more the storms sailed with stupendous wings And thunder strode in wrath across the world, But still was heard a muttering in the sky And rain dripped wearily through the mournful air And grey slow-drifting clouds shut in the earth. So her grief's heavy sky shut in her heart. A still self hid behind but gave no light: No voice came down from the forgotten heights; Only in the privacy of its brooding pain Her human heart spoke to the body's fate. End of Canto One 
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