[A DREAM]
METHOUGHT that unto God I prayed: Oh, Lord!
If thou wouldst deign to let poor me behold
Thy greatness, so that with my human brain
I understood it! Thus I spoke, and Lo!
I stood alone upon a mountain rock,
In utter darkness, towering rocks beyond
The dread abyss, that at my feet lay black
And fathomless, yielding no answer to
The searching eye. And, measureless, the sky
Above was dark'ning into endless night.
Then, from the deep did vapours seem to rise
In white procession, denser, and yet denser,
Until into a rising column they
Began to form—a column like a mountain,
That rose and rose and rose up to the vaults
Of darkness which it seemed to carry, all
One mass of light. And when I looked again,
That column built itself of millions and
Millions of milk-white stars that moved and shone
And seemed to lift the skies unto a height
That human sight and human word could not
Attain. And whilst I looked and wondered at
The seething worlds, the column changed and formed
Itself into the statue Buonarroti
Has made of Moses, only reaching from
The deep into the heavens, white and bright,
As if three suns, themselves invisible,
Had shed their light upon the statue, or
As if an inner light shone out from it.
The socle, not on earth, but far beyond,
Was standing on the Parthenon, that shone
As bright again with endless rows of columns.
Here was the answer: Millions and yet millions
Of rising worlds, and every people's art,
And all religions may but serve to form
My human likeness, so that men behold
Me great as mortal eye and brain encompass.
For days I walked on clouds, I lived my dream.
I heard not, saw not, thought not, but beheld
The world's Creator in the silent night,
And felt the blessing so unspeakable
Of God's own answer to my childish prayer.
[IN THE DARK]
THE moon has but one side of light and beauty,
The other, steeped in never-ending night,
Seems worse than dead, as in the harmony
Of spheres, she cannot even echo. And
She died they say, for love of her great brother,
The glorious Sun, whom she may never reach,
Condemned to be apart, for that great sin
Of love. He was the light and life and joy
Of all her world, how could she then refrain
And love not, when her brother was a god?
But then she died, you see, and was forgiven.
Wherefore is Earth so dark and yet alive?
Wherefore doth fire still melt the gold in depths
So fathomless, that not a spark may light
The poor outside? She wanders through the worlds,
Unknown, without a ray, and yet alive
With foaming waters and with words as proud
As flowing hair. Why art thou dark, O Earth?
If thou wert sinless, would not dancing rays
Laugh through the night and gladden other planets?
Would not thy bosom's warmth give life again
To yonder ghost, thy mate in misery?
What hast thou done to be condemned to darkness,
To be a living hell, wherein the souls
Of millions suffer until death? Thy heart
Is gold: hast thou betrayed the sun? Or hast
Thou stolen wondrous goods, in gliding from
The sun? Therefore is Death to be thy child,
A curse to wander on thy lovely sides,
That oft are torn and ever motherly
Will comfort the offender with her off'rings.
Or art thou dark because thy womb must be
The grave of all thy children, Mother Earth?