IV
Even while I muse thy halting-place doth shift,
Now nearer, now more distant—I have seen
When April, through her shining hair adrift,
Gleams a farewell, and elms are fledged with green,
The voiceful, wandering envoy of the Spring;
Thee, never; though the mower’s scythe hath dashed
Thy nest aside, but thou hast sped askant,
Viewless; then last we lose thee, and thy wing
Brushes Nilotic maize and thou dost chaunt
Haply all night to stony ears of Pasht.
V
Ah, now an end to thy inveterate tale!
The silence melts from the mid spheres of heaven;
Enough! before this peace has time to fail
From out my soul, or yon white cloud has driven
Up the moon’s path I turn, and I will rest
Once more with summer in my heart. Farewell!
Shut are the wild-rose cups; no moth’s awhirr;
My room will be moon-silvered from the west
For one more hour; thy note shall be a burr
To tease out thought and catch the slumbrous spell.
IN THE CATHEDRAL
The altar-lights burn low, the incense-fume
Sickens: O listen, how the priestly prayer
Runs as a fenland stream; a dim despair
Hails through their chaunt of praise, who here inhume
A clay-cold Faith within its carven tomb.
But come thou forth into the vital air
Keen, dark, and pure! grave Night is no betrayer,
And if perchance some faint cold star illume
Her brow of mystery, shall we walk forlorn?
An altar of the natural rock may rise
Somewhere for men who seek; there may be borne
On the night-wind authentic prophecies:
If not, let this—to breathe sane breath—suffice,
Till in yon East, mayhap, the dark be worn.