I stood in the Temple of Silence
Where in crimson splendour shone,
The rich light through stained windows
O’er a matchless crystal throne.
And a vista of stately pillars
Stretched far ’neath a dome of gold,
And sculptured recumbent figures
Of mortals of kingly mould.
Yet with all its surpassing beauty
I could feel the icy breath
Of the wings of some brooding phantom
In this gilded house of death.
Here no sound ever broke the stillness,
Here solitude ever abode,
I stayed till the moonbeams quivered,
Then left Silence alone with God.
I stood in the Palace of Pleasure,
The revels were wild and gay,
And mocking laughter rose and fell
As the swift hours sped away.
The lights waxed dim, and the flowers
Drooped dead in the gorgeous bowls,
And the painted faces anon grew sad,
And mirthless their empty souls.
The long night waned, and the dancers,
Their beauty all faded and worn,
Looked pallid, and listless, and weary,
In the rays of the glorious morn.
Ever seeking ephemeral pleasure,
Which leads to the path of pain,
And down to the Valley of Never,
Whence none may return again.
I stood in life’s Garden of Beauty,
And, lo! in a floral shrine
Of roses and lilies entwining
Lay a chalice of dew divine.
And a throng of mortals stood waiting
For the Angel of Love to pour
This holy dew of libation,
Which falleth for evermore.
And children were weaving garlands
As they walked o’er the verdant sward
With the flowers of Truth and Perfection
In sunlight which ever poured.
And here, in this new earthly Eden,
With its gleaming wings of white,
Was Peace, for all men were Brothers—
I awoke from my dream: “’Twas night!”
THE VOICE OF SONG.
Come, oh song, and charm my sadness,
For I fain would weep,
With melodious notes of gladness
Wooing balmy sleep.
While the troops of stars are smiling
Calm my fevered brow,
All my soul with sound beguiling,
Charm, oh! charm me now.
Golden daylight hath its laughter,
Moonlight hath its tears;
Songs are dreams which follow after
Thought along the years.
Waves of joy, and waves of sorrow,
Placid, turbulent,
Darkest days have bright to-morrows,
Each a message sent.
Love and life on wings are flying,
Dreams of yesterday,
Like the precious hours, are lying
Far from us to-day.
Sing, then, sing your sweetest number
Softer than a sigh,
That it bring me dreamless slumber
For my weary eye.
And thy song shall be for dreamers
Tender, soft, and low,
And the tune that Boreas murmurs,
Which none others know.
Waft, oh voice of song, thy measure
O’er the air of even,
Till the soul, consumed with pleasure,
Wakes to thoughts of Heaven.
ALIENATION.
What gulf so deep, what arid desert plain,
Or dreary vastitude of ocean main,
So deep as the divide of hearts once stirred
To sweet response, which only winds had heard?
The dead who live but love us now no more,
Gone are the echoes of the tones of yore;
The faces of our sighs and tears and dreams
Are cold as gleaming ice on frozen streams.
The days that were may ne’er return again,
Though each perchance has felt the aching pain;
Yet pride forbade thy wounded heart to let
Me plead; but, oh! thou never can’st forget.
’Tis destiny’s decree, and ’twere not meet
That when I see thy cold eyes I should greet
Thee more—thy burning heart ’neath snow
Can never flame again with tender glow.
And yet how strange that it should thus befall,
Since love is dead, that fain we would recall
Each note that trembled on the golden lyre,
Ere it lay silent on the funeral pyre.
So be it: Destiny for all sad mortals leaves
Some little grains of comfort from life’s sheaves;
So, though my love be lost to me for aye,
The flowers of memory ne’er will fade away.