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Wonderfully out of the beautiful form
And is in its first home, there where it is. Who speaks thereof, and feels not the tears warm Upon his face, must have become so vile
As to be dead to all sweet sympathies.
upon him! an abject wretch like this May not imagine anything of her,
He needs no bitter tears for his relief.
But sighing comes, and grief, And the desire to find no comforter
(Save only Death, who makes all sorrow brief), To him who for a while turns in his thought How she hath been among us, and is not.
With sighs my bosom always laboreth
Of her for whom my heart now breaks apace;
That it will change the color of my face;
And, if the idea settles in its place, All my limbs shake as with an ague-fit;
Till, starting up in wild bewilderment,
I do become so shent
Afterward, calling with a sore lament
Grief with its tears, and anguish with its sighs, Come to me now whene'er I am alone;
So that I think the sight of me gives pain. And what my life hath been, that living dies,
Since for my lady the New Birth's begun,
I have not any language to explain.
And so, dear ladies, though my heart were fain, I scarce could tell indeed how I am thus.
All joy is with my bitter life at war;
Yea, I am fallen so far
Eyeing my cold white lips, how dead they are.
Weep, pitiful Song of mine, upon thy way,
To the dames going and the damozels
For whom and for none else
Go dwell thou with them as a mourner dwells.
Her eyes were deeper than the depth
Of waters stilled at even;
And the stars in her hair were seven.
Her robe, ungirt from clasp to hem,
No wrought flowers did adorn,
For service meetly worn;
Was yellow like ripe corn.
Herseemed she scarce had been a day
One of God's choristers;
From that still look of hers;
Had counted as ten years.
(To one, it is ten years of
and in this place, Surely she leaned o'er me—her hair
Fell all about my face. Nothing: the autumn fall of leaves.
The whole year sets apace.)
It was the rampart of God's house
That she was standing on;
The which is Space begun;
She scarce could see the sun.
It lies in Heaven, across the flood
Of ether, as a bridge.
With flame and darkness ridge
Spins like a fretful midge.
Around her, lovers, newly met
'Mid deathless love's acclaims, Spoke evermore among themselves
Their heart-remembered names; And the souls mounting up to God
Went by her like thin flames.
And still she bowed herself and stooped
Out of the circling charm; Until her bosom must have made
The bar she leaned on warm, And the lilies lay as if asleep
Along her bended arm.
From the fixed place of Heaven she saw
Time like a pulse shake fierce
Within the gulf to pierce
The stars sang in their spheres.
The sun was gone now; the curled moon
Was like a little feather
She spoke through the still weather.
Had when they sang together.
(Ah sweet! Even now, in that bird's song,
Strove not her accents there,
Possessed the midday air,
Down all the echoing stair?)
“I wish that he were come to me,
For he will come,” she said. “Have I not prayed in Heaven?
-on earth, Lord, Lord, has he not prayed? Are not two prayers a perfect strength?
And shall I feel afraid?
“When round his head the aureole clings,
And he is clothed in white,
To the deep wells of light;
And bathe there in God's sight.
“We two will stand beside that shrine,
Occult, withheld, untrod,
With prayer sent up to God;
Each like a little cloud.
“We two will lie i' the shadow of
That living mystic tree
Is sometimes felt to be,
Saith His Name audibly.
“And I myself will teach to him,
I myself, lying so,
Shall pause in, hushed and slow,
Or some new thing to know.”
(Alas! We two, we two, thou say'st!
Yea, one wast thou with me
To endless unity
Was but its love for thee?)