Janua Coeli.
XIV.
The night through yonder cloudy cleft,
With many a lingering last regard,
Withdraws—but slowly—and hath left
Her mantle on the dewy sward.
The lawns with silver dews are strewn;
The winds lie hushed in cave and tree;
Nor stirs a flower, save one alone
That bends beneath the earliest bee.
Peace over all the garden broods;
Pathetic sweets the thickets throng;
Like breath the vapour o'er the woods
Ascends—dim woods without a song:
Or hangs, a shining, fleece-like mass
O'er half yon lake that winds afar
Among the forests, still as glass,
The mirror of that Morning Star
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Which, halfway wandering from the sky,
Amid the rose of morn delays
And (large and less alternately)
Bends down a lustrous, tearful gaze.
Mother and home of spirits blest!
Bright gate of Heaven and golden bower!
Thy best of blessings, love and rest,
Depart not till on earth thou shower!
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XV.
If sense of Man's unworthiness
With Nature's blameless looks at strife,
Should wake with wakening May, and press
New-born contentment out of life:
If thoughts of sable breed and blind
Should stamp upon the springing flower,
Or blacker memories haunt the mind
As ravens haunt the ruined tower:—
O then how sweet in heart to breathe
Those pure Judean gales once more;
From Bethlehem's crib to Nazareth
In heart to tread that Syrian shore!
To watch that star-like Infant bring
To one of soul as clear and white
May-lilies, fresh from Siloa's spring,
Or Passion-flower with May-dews bright!
To follow, earlier yet, the feet
Of her the "hilly land" who trod
With true love's haste, intent to greet
That aged saint beloved of God.
Before her, like a stream let loose,
The long vale's flowerage, winding, ran:
Nature resumed her Eden use;
And Earth was reconciled with Man.