VI
Her Courage
When her soul flies to the predestined dancing-place
（I have no speech but symbol， the pagan speech I made
Amid the dreams of youth） let her come face to face，
Amid that first astonishment， with Grania's shade，
All but the terrors of the woodland flight forgot
That made her Diarmuid dear， and some old cardinal
Pacing with half-closed eyelids in a sunny spot
Who had murmured of Giorgione at his latest breath-
Aye， and Achilles， Timor， Babar， Barhaim， all
Who have lived in joy and laughed into the face of Death.