But, one long twilight—hushed and dim—
The blue unfathomable clime
Of heaven seemed wholly to o’erbrim
With presence of the Lord—sublime;
And voices of the Seraphim
Fell through the ether like a chime:
He rose: his past way seemed to him
Like a child’s whim.
THE LOVER.
I WAS not with the rest at play;
My brothers laughed in joyous mood:
But I—I wandered far away
Into the fair and silent wood;
And with the trees and flowers I stood,
As dumb and full of dreams as they:
—For One it seemed my whole heart knew,
Or One my heart had known long since,
Was peeping at me through the dew;
And with bright laughter seemed to woo
My beauty, like a Fairy prince.
Oh, what a soft enchantment filled
The lonely paths and places dim!
It was as though the whole wood thrilled,
And a dumb joy, because of him,
Weighed down the lilies tall and slim,
And made the roses blush, and stilled
The great wild voices in half fear:
It was as though his smile did hold
All things in trances manifold;
And in each place as he drew near
The leaves were touched and turned to gold.
And well I seemed to know, the while,
It was for me and for my sake,
He wrought that magic with his smile,
And set the unseen spells to make
The lonely ways I loved to take
So full of sweetness, to beguile
My heart and keep me there for hours;
And sometimes I was sure he lay
Beside me hid among the flowers,
Or climbed above me, and in play
Shook down the white tree-bloom in showers.
But more and more he seemed to seek
My heart: till, dreaming of all this,
I thought one day to hear him speak,
Or feel, indeed, his sudden kiss
Bind me to some great unknown bliss:
Then there would stay upon my cheek
Full many a light and honied stain,
That told indeed how I had lain
Deep in the flowery banks all day;
And round me too there would remain
Some strange wood-blossom’s scent alway.
’Twas not the bright and fond deceit
Of that first summer,—whose great bloom
Quite overcame me with its sweet,
And seemed to fill me and consume
My very brain with its perfume;—
’Twas no false spell made my heart beat
With such a joy to be alone
With all the bloom and all the scent:
It was a thing I dared not own,
Already whispered there and known,
Already with my whole life blent.
It was this secret, vast, sublime,
Too full of wonder to be told—
Whose extreme rapture from that time
Doth ever more and more enfold
My spirit, like a robe of gold,
Or, as it were, the magic clime
Of some fair heaven about me shed—
Wherein are songs of unseen birds,
And whispers of delicious words
More sweet than any man hath said
Of all the living or the dead.
—O, the incomparable love
Of him, my Lover!—O, to tell
Its way and measure were above
The throbbing chords of speech that swell
Within me!—Doth it not excel
All other, sung or written of?
Yea now, O all ye fair mankind—
Consider well the gracious line
Of those your lovers; call to mind
Their love of you, and ye shall find
Not one among them all like mine.
It seems as though, from calm to calm,
A whole fair age had passed me by,
Since first this Lover, through a charm
Of flowers, wooed so tenderly,
I had no fear of drawing nigh,
Nor knew, indeed, that—with an arm
Closed round and holding me—he led
My eager way from sight to sight
Of all the summer magic—right
To where himself had surely spread
Some pleasant snare for my delight.