Hush! I hear a low, sweet sound
As of music stealing round;
Forms thy hand the thrilling chords
Into more than spoken words?
Ah! ’tis but the gathering breeze
Whispering to the budding trees,
Or the song of early bees.
Love! where art thou? Canst thou not
Hear me, or is all forgot?
Seest thou not these burning tears?
Can my words not reach thine ears?
Or betwixt my soul and thine
Has some mystery divine
Sealed a separating line?
Is it thus, then, after death
Old things none remembereth?
Is the spirit henceforth clear
Of the life it gathered here?
Will our noblest longings seem
Like some disremembered dream
In the after world’s full beam?
Hark! the rainy wind blows loud,
Scuds above the hurrying cloud;
Hushed is all the song of bees;
Angry murmurs of the trees
Herald tempests. Silent yet
Sleepest thou—nor fear nor fret
Troubles thee. Can I forget?
LO! IN A DREAM LOVE CAME TO ME.
LO! in a dream Love came to me and cried:
“The summer dawn creeps over land and sea;
The golden fields are ripe for harvest-tide,
And the grape-gatherers climb the mountain-side;
The harvest joy is come; I wait for thee.
Arise, come down, and follow, follow me.”
And I arose, went down, and followed him.
The reaper’s song went ringing through the air;
Below, the morning mists grew pale and dim,
And on the mountain ridge the sun’s bright rim
Rose swiftly, and the glorious dawn was there.
I followed, followed Love, I knew not where.
Through orange groves and orchard ways we went;
The cool fresh dew lay deep on grass and tree,
Above our heads the laden boughs were bent
With weight of ripening fruit; the faint sweet scent
Of fragrant myrtles drifted up to me:
Blindly, O Love, blindly I followed thee!
O Love, the morning shadows passed away
From off the broad fair fields of waving wheat;
I followed thee, till in the full noonday
The weary women in the vineyards lay;
The tall field flowers drooped fading in the heat:
I followed thee with bruised and bleeding feet.