SENT TO AN AMERICAN SHAKESPEARE SOCIETY
’Twixt us through gleam and gloom in glorious play
League-long the leonine billows ramp and roll,
The same maturing sun illumes our day,
Ripens our blood—the sun of Shakespeare’s soul.
NOCTURNE
Ere sleep upheaves me on one glassy billow
To drift me down the deep,
I lie with easeful head upon my pillow,
Letting the minutes creep.
Until Time’s pulse is stayed and all earth’s riot
Fades in a limit white,
While over me curve fragrant wings of quiet
Tender and great as Night.
Then I gaze up. Divine, descending slumber
Thine access yet forbear,
Though vow I proffer none, nor blessings number,
Nor breathe a wordless prayer.
A Presence is within me and above me,
That takes me for its own,
A Motherhood, a bosom prompt to love me,
I know it and am known.
So softly I roll back the Spirit’s portals;
O be the entrance wide!
Silence and light from home of my Immortals
Flow in, a tranquil tide.