Yea, mystic consummation! yea,
O Wondrous suitor,—whosoe’er
Thou art; that in such mighty way,
In distant realms, athwart the air
And lands and seas, with all things fair,
Hast wooed me even till this day;—
It seems thou drawest near to me;
Or I, indeed, so nigh to thee,
I catch rare breaths of a delight
From thy most glorious country, see
Its distant glow upon some height.
At times there is vouchsafed me, e’en
Some sign that certainly foretells
Of thee at hand: so I have seen—
Caught by no earthly clash of bells—
A gleam of silver citadels;
Distant, and radiant with such sheen
As only on high virgin snows,
Or from the diamond one knows;
Displayed a moment, without shroud,
Eclipsing all the night’s fair shows
From some dim pinnacle of cloud:
Or, through a calm hushed interval
Of most charmed thinking, there hath passed,
And with no rumour or footfall,
A troop of blonde ones who surpassed
All tales of loveliness amassed
In my child’s dreamland; costumed all
As for a bridal; who did shine
With such a splendour on each face,
And light upon the garments fine,
I knew them surely of a race
That dwells in that fair realm of thine.
O thou my Destiny! O thou
My own—my very Love—my Lord!
Whom from the first day until now
My heart, divining, hath adored
So perfectly it hath abhorred
The tie of each frail human vow—
O I would whisper in thine ear—
Yea, may I not, once, in the clear
Pure night, when, only, silver shod
The angels walk?—thy name, I fear
And love, and tremble saying—GOD!
A WHISPER FROM THE GRAVE.
MY life points with a radiant hand,
Along a golden ray of sun
That lights some distant promised land,
A fair way for my feet to run:
My Death stands heavily in gloom,
And digs a soft bed in the tomb
Where I may sleep when all is done.
The flowers take hold upon my feet;
Fair fingers beckon me along;
I find Life’s promises so sweet
Each thought within me turns to song:
But Death stands digging for me—lest
Some day I need a little rest,
And come to think the way too long.
O seems there not beneath each rose
A face?—the blush comes burning through;
And eyes my heart already knows
Are filling themselves from the blue,
Above the world; and One, whose hair
Holds all my sun, is coming, fair,
And must bring heaven if all be true: