Grateful, in her deep silence, one loud thrush
Startled the air with song; then every bush
Of covert songsters all awoke,
And all, as to their leader’s stroke,
Into full chorus broke.
A lonely wind sighed up the pines, and sung
Of woes long past, forgot. My spirit hung
O’er awful gulfs: and loathly dread
So bitter was I wished me dead,
And from a great void said;
“Wait till its glory fade; the sun but burned
To light your loveliness!” The Lady turned
To me, flushed by its lingering rays,
Mute as a star. My frantic praise
Fixed wide her brightened gaze:
When, rapt in resolution, I told all
The mighty love I bore her; how would pall
My very breath of life, if she
For ever breathed not hers with me:—
Could I a spirit be,
How, vainly hoping to enrich her grace,
What gems and wonders would I snatch from space;
Would back through the vague distance beat,
Glowing with joy her smile to meet,
And heap them round her feet!
Her waist shook to my arm. She bowed her head
To mine in silence, and my fears had fled:
(Just then we heard a tolling bell.)
Ah no; it is not right to tell;
But I remember well
How dear the pressure of her warm young breast
Against my own, her home; how proud and blessed
I stood and felt her trickling tears,
While proudly murmuring in her ears
The hope of distant years.
The rest I keep: a holy charm, a source
Of secret strength and comfort on my course.
Her glory left my pathway bright;
And stars on stars throughout the night
Came blooming into light.