My blood makes shuddering leaps as, alone in my dark, I think Of my own white stag whom the pitiless archers wounded sore; My royal eagle whose plumes were all bedabbled with gore; My strong one whose prideful locks of glory and might they shore ; And the iron enters into my soul, and I shiver and shrink; And the bitter and awe of death is in the cup that I drink. O passionate outstretcht arms, ye may drop your warm, white weight On the cold, cold, silent grave, for he cannot feel you strain And beat against the impassable barriers to clasp him again Scorch me, O glaring sun! Drench me, O pitiless rain! Nothing can make me dull to the terrible cry, Too Late ! Or blind to the light that burns through the closed chrystal gate. O love, my beloved, I love you, I love you, I love you; I say Again I love you, I love you; but oh ! that awful sea I Of death rolls heavily in betwixt your soul and me, And my fireful words are drown'd in the roar of its waves, and she Who utters them sinks and fails, her garments weighted with spray, And hopes not the terrible tide will ebb out at the breaking of day. All through I lov'd you, dear heart! Oh, had I but told you so When your forehead was flushen red with the shame of your one, one sin; Nor open'd my soul's gate wide for pride to enter in ; Nor turn'd my eyes away and left the devils to grin O'er the grand young fallen soul they waited to drag below; While I might have sav'd who lie with the Cain-curse on me now. Alas, my belov'd, my belov'd! that I left you to sink in the mire Till the garments you wore, once fair, ah, scarcely a vestige show'd Of the stately, saintly white they wear in the kingdom of God: While the hand was folded away that could have helpt if it would, Ere the last fair string was wrencht from the breast of the golden lyre, And the voice into silence sank, that was even the angels' desire. Come back to me living and erring, and body and soul shall be thrown As a bridge across the abyss, and the gulf at your feet be spann'd, And I be right glad to perish so you may but safely stand Unsmircht from the brow to the feet in the light of the holy land Where the Shepherd in pastures of rest folds every saved one; And no more may the eyeballs weep and no more may the lips make moan. GHOSTS. DREAD you their haunting, O man of the world-wise brow? These ghosts, would you banish them all away from our earth? Alas! when I was haunted, the loveless dearth Never came over my soul that is over it now. Oh for the beautiful spirits that haunted me In the long, sweet hours of the pallid winter nights, With the noiseless garb, and the tremulous angel-lights, Lighting my soul, as the sun the desolate sea! What have I done that your cherisht presence is gone Fair little one, with the violet eyes, oh pass! When the beauty and light of your childly joysome face Were to me as the presence of spring to the snowcovered grass. Statelier one, with the passionate ruddy gold Crowning the beautiful head that is grand and proud, Let the darkness be your garment, and not your shroud; Yea, shine, deep eyes, that never were quiet or cold. And you with the gracious eyes, come bend them on mine, Kiss away the furrows of pain from my face; Stay here, spirit, stay in this lonely place, Presence that thrills like a strain of song divine ! You three us'd to come long ago, and smile With a perfect measureless smile, that thro' and thro' My soul sank, as to a rose's heart sinks dew :Why have you left me here so lonely, while The working world is striving to keep me low, With its ledgers and day-books dull on my aching sight? Come, for I need the fall of your garments white To sweep the heavy earth-dust away from me now. Come, my beloved, who are not three, but one; O childhood! O girlhood! O womanhood, sweet and good; Each with its own most exquisite grace, that could Fill the heart with delight in itself alone. |