THE CHAMBER OF SILENCE
One autumn day we three, Who long had borne each other company— Grief, and my Heart, and I— Walked out beneath a dull and leaden sky.
The fields were bare and brown; From the still trees the dead leaves fluttered down; There were no birds to sing, Or cleave the air on swift, rejoicing wing.
We sought the barren sand Beside the moaning sea, and, hand in hand, Paced its slow length, and talked Of our supremest sorrows as we walked.
Slow shaking each bowed head, “There is no anguish like to ours,” we said; “The glancing eyes of morn Fall on no souls more utterly forlorn.”
But suddenly, across A narrow fiord wherein wild billows toss, We saw before our eyes, High hung above the tide, a temple rise—
A temple wondrous fair, Lifting its shining turrets in the air, All touched with golden gleams, Like the bright miracles we see in dreams.
Grief turned and looked at me. “We must go thither, O my friends,” said she; Then, saying nothing more, With rapid, gliding step passed on before.
And we—my Heart and I— Where Grief went, we went, following silently, Till in sweet solitude Beneath the temple’s vaulted roof we stood.
’Twas like a hollow pearl— A vast white sacred chamber, where the whirl Of passion stirred not, where A luminous splendor trembled in the air.
“O friends, I know this place,” Said Grief at last, “this lofty, silent space, Where, either soon or late, I and my kindred all shall lie in state.”
“But do Griefs die?” I cried. “Some die—not all,” full calmly she replied. “Yet all at last will lie In this fair chamber, slumbering quietly.
Chamber of Silence, this; Who brings his Grief here doth not go amiss. Mine hour hath come. We three Will walk, O friends, no more in company.”
Then was I dumb. My Heart And I—how could we with our dear Grief part, Who for so many a day Had walked beside us in our lonely way?
But she, with matchless grace, And a sweet smile upon her tear-wet face, Said, “Leave me here to sleep, Where every Grief forgets at last to weep.”
What could we do but go? We turned with slow, reluctant feet, but lo! The pearly door had closed, Shutting us in where all the Griefs reposed.
“Nay, go not back,” she said; “Retrace no steps. Go farther on instead.” Then, on the other side, On noiseless hinge another door swung wide,
Through which we onward passed Into a chamber lowlier than the last, But, oh! so sweet and calm That the hushed air was like a holy psalm.
“Chamber of Peace” was writ Where the low vaulted roof arched over it. Then knew we Grief must cease When sacred Silence leadeth unto Peace.