I climb its sides when the day grows old
And its mighty shadow falls deep and wide,
And over the gleam of the sunset's gold
The darkness creeps like a rising tide;
And higher and higher up rocky height,
Past oaks that are gnarled by the winter's blast,
I climb till a marvellous vision of light
Breaks forth on my wondering sight at last.
Dome and spire of house of prayer,
Convent cloister gloomy and gray,
Street and market and bridge lie there
In the golden gleam of the dying day.
Yet here on the silent mountain crest
There echoes a moan and a smothered roar
From the tide of life in its strange unrest,
As it beats below on a barren shore.
The Vision
A vision came unto a saint of old
Of a fair city by a crystal stream,
Its gates of pearl, its streets of shining gold,—
Barbaric splendours of a mystic's dream.
There upon floating wings the white-robed throng
No man can number chant in endless song;
Across the tideless sea no shadow falls
To dim the glory of the sapphire walls,
Or mar the splendour of the throne-crowned height.
Ah love, the mystic's vision wakes to-night,
With all its glittering show and kingly pride,
No longing in a heart unsatisfied.
But oh, to walk with thee the river shore
As in the days gone by, the gold strewn o'er
The strand of primrose bloom, the water's flow,
Mingled with thy sweet voice in music low,
The angel song; to touch my lips to thine,
To hear the whispering of thy heart to mine,
And burning with a fire that never dies,
To see once more the love-light in thine eyes.
Ah, dim those far celestial splendours burn,
Gray grow the sapphire walls and gold-strewn ways
Before the vision of thy love's return
With all the unuttered joys of bygone days.
A Year Ago
The waters of the river gleamed as brightly
And murmured with the same untiring flow,
The branches of the birches tossed as lightly,
Among them sang the breeze as soft and low,
A year ago.