Then the raised Face
Breaks soft and the eyes droop and bend above
The sweet head’s place,
Where from closed eyelids John
Setteth his love upon
God, his Lord, his Thought, his Lover dear:
And, in lapse of silence falling clear,
One heareth only this—
On the sweet head, a kiss.
AN ANTIPHONY OF ADVENT
Ad Laudes
I
COME to a revel, happy men!
Far away on the hills a wine of joy
Makes golden dew in drops, that cloy
The fissures of the glen,
The crevices of rock;
Caught in its sweetness thyme and cistus lock;
The hills are white and gold
In every fold;
The hills are running milk and honey-rivers;
Yet not a thyrsus on a mountain quivers.
II
DOES not the distant city cry,
As if filled with an unexpected rout,
Alleluia, shout on shout?
Nor can the city high
Exult in song enough,
Tuning to smoothness all her highways rough.
And yet the Bromian god
Hath never trod
With choir the pavements, nor each grape-haired dancer
Given to the mountain-streams a city’s answer.
III
BEHOLD, O men, a vivid light!
Is it the lightning-fire that blazes wide,
Or torches lit on every side
That turn the sky so bright?
Through this great, sudden day,
No levin-gendered god’s triumphant way
The brands of pine confess:
A loveliness
Within that mighty light of larger story
Is come among us with exceeding glory.
IV
YE that would drink, come forth and drink!
Within the hills are rivers white and gold;
Clear mid the day a portent to behold.
Stoop at the water’s brink,
Seek where the light is great!
Why should the revellers for revel wait?
Now ye can drink as thirsty stags
Where no source flags.
Forth to the water-brooks, forth in the morning;
Forth to the light that out of light is dawning!