Ah Death! Thou art a strange and delicate thing,
Pale hooded sister of sweet sleep!
That like a patient holy nun,
Upon a battle steep,
Hath watched from sun to sun
Each laboring breath,
That welcomes thee, sweet Death.
Whilst thou with cooling balm
Do quiet lips, where lonely anguish cries,
And draw cool shades for wearied eyes,
And layeth speechless calm
Upon each fevered brow,
With strokings of thy coolly palm.
And thou, and only thou
Hath Alms
More sweet than psalms,
To famished souls
On barren goals.
What draughts of long forgetfulness
Hath held to moaning thirst!
To drink, to drink, and drinking, wildly bless,
That thou, the last, shall be the first.
What depths of great eternal night,
Hast held to failing eyes!
Till, pregnant with the awful sight,
A spirit in them lies
That is not life.
I see thee calming strife,
And age old bitterness.
The young man's mockery of the old
Hath seen thy face and trembles all acold.
I see thee in the bride's deep fathomless eyes,
That flash with sudden consciousness,
While all her pulses rise
To greet sweet motherhood.
I see thee in the lonely wood,
With hardy woodsmen clearing future cities,
And hardy daughters chanting ditties
That are the songs of queens to be.
I see thee in the golden halls of gaity
Where trips the lure of beauty ankle deep,
And where the faded kings and queens in kindly shadows creep.
I see thee in the busy marts of blood and brain,
And in the crowded thoroughfares,
Of ceaseless noise, and sightless glares,
That lead to woods again.
I see thee by the nervous ocean,
That trembles still, with wild emotion,
And brings sad pennance for its night of wrath.
I see thee on the lonely mountain path,
That leadeth ever up and down.
I see thee in the golden brown
That burns gay summer's bonny cheeks.
I see thee in the light that seeks
A soberer gown along the afternoon.
I see thee by the harvest's moon,
And hear thee in the reaper's distant song.
And whither this may rise and that be planting soon,
I see thine hooded shadow glide along.
I see thee with the poet on the hills
Of soul's expression.
I see thee with the raptured alchemist's in session,
While each his magic mirror fills
With drossless gold of music, art, and poesy,
Whence o'er the world such beauty spills,
That sorrow cannot be.
I hear thee in the lovers' lilt,
Of careless brightness.
I see thee in the lightness,
Of amorous lips atilt.
I hear thee in the dreamy serenade,
That wakes the charméd ear of night,
And loosens in some farthest glade,
A mocking bird to lyric flight.
I see thee where the silence falls
On haunted sleep men lie within,—
And ah! thy dreamless solace calls,
Far, faint and thin.
And ever calls,
Till perfect silence falls.
I see, thee, hear thee, feel thee every where,
O! passing breath!
And life is glorified for thou art there,
O! Death! |