 | The collected poems of Arthur Edward Waite |  |
189
WOODLAND MYSTICS
The Blessed Master from the world beyond
Came in the morning redness of my life;
He singled me from all my name and race
For ministry in secret through the world,
And I have never left Him, night or day,
Through all the lonely wanderings and ways.
Great is the enterprise, the end is sure:
In very truth the Blessed Master came!
Came in the morning redness of my life;
He singled me from all my name and race
For ministry in secret through the world,
And I have never left Him, night or day,
Through all the lonely wanderings and ways.
Great is the enterprise, the end is sure:
In very truth the Blessed Master came!
You ask how first the Blessed Master came:
When first my heart was stirr'd to choose the path
Of quest, the Venerable Master came.
How came the Venerable Master? Say,
What other likeness could He wear but ours?
A man of men, of royal aspect He:
By just so much as man, aspiring, shapes
The Ends Divine and them in heart conceives
Do those Great Ends assume the man himself,
And so as man the Blessed Master came.
Where met the Master and the friend He loves?
Where should they meet but in familiar scenes?
The cotter need not look beyond his gate,
Nor woodman fare beyond the fallen tree,
Nor any turn the corner of a street;
In East or West or Zenith seek him not:
O Blessed Master, he is here and now!
When first my heart was stirr'd to choose the path
Of quest, the Venerable Master came.
How came the Venerable Master? Say,
What other likeness could He wear but ours?
A man of men, of royal aspect He:
By just so much as man, aspiring, shapes
The Ends Divine and them in heart conceives
Do those Great Ends assume the man himself,
And so as man the Blessed Master came.
Where met the Master and the friend He loves?
Where should they meet but in familiar scenes?
The cotter need not look beyond his gate,
Nor woodman fare beyond the fallen tree,
Nor any turn the corner of a street;
190
O Blessed Master, he is here and now!
To me at eve the Blessed Master came;
Thee haply call'd He with the morn's first bird
And other some at middle night or noon:
With Nature round, to me at eve He came.
The sunset's scarlet heart had fix'd mine eyes,
And when they moved, intincted mist and flame
Seem'd rolling round me: a majestic shape,
Dilated in it, suddenly I saw
Beside me, and my spirit by His voice—
The Master's blessed voice—was inly thrill'd.
Thee haply call'd He with the morn's first bird
And other some at middle night or noon:
With Nature round, to me at eve He came.
The sunset's scarlet heart had fix'd mine eyes,
And when they moved, intincted mist and flame
Seem'd rolling round me: a majestic shape,
Dilated in it, suddenly I saw
Beside me, and my spirit by His voice—
The Master's blessed voice—was inly thrill'd.
The Blessed Master came in evening's hush;
He bade me follow; in the autumn cold
I cross'd still fields, and through an old swing-gate
Pass'd into spongy marshes. Still my mind
Recalls one copse of willows where the moon
Through naked boughs look'd at us. As I cross'd
The crumbling stile, a minute's space I paused,
For who had stood there set apart so far
In all the world, O Blessed Master, say?
From mine old house had ever maid or youth,
At the star-promise of Thy word most true,
Gone forth at night to follow far on Thee,
And paused, as I, in that familiar copse,
Where late and early on my face the moon
Had look'd so oft, which would not know me more,
Yet all its woodland mystics spell the same
In calm and wind, while I was call'd away
The hallow'd bound of all man's life to win?
O Venerable Master, pausing there,
What marvel is it if my human heart
Shall keep the memory of that dreaming copse,
In yellow moonlight lying, fresh for ever,
Though over stars exalted?
He bade me follow; in the autumn cold
I cross'd still fields, and through an old swing-gate
Pass'd into spongy marshes. Still my mind
Recalls one copse of willows where the moon
Through naked boughs look'd at us. As I cross'd
The crumbling stile, a minute's space I paused,
For who had stood there set apart so far
In all the world, O Blessed Master, say?
From mine old house had ever maid or youth,
At the star-promise of Thy word most true,
Gone forth at night to follow far on Thee,
And paused, as I, in that familiar copse,
Where late and early on my face the moon
Had look'd so oft, which would not know me more,
Yet all its woodland mystics spell the same
In calm and wind, while I was call'd away
The hallow'd bound of all man's life to win?
O Venerable Master, pausing there,
What marvel is it if my human heart
Shall keep the memory of that dreaming copse,
In yellow moonlight lying, fresh for ever,
Though over stars exalted?
191
Long ago—
O long ago! And I have follow'd far—
With Thee, still with Thee, ever, Friend, with Thee!
And the old house from the old roof-tree leans,
For death and change have been at work in all;
But still that woodland spells its mystic speech
In calm and wind, and all its speech I know:
'Tis ever fresh within my human heart.
Since thus the Blessed Master came at eve,
That dreaming copse, in yellow moonlight lying,
Bears witness in me through eternity
How in His very truth the Master came!
O long ago! And I have follow'd far—
With Thee, still with Thee, ever, Friend, with Thee!
And the old house from the old roof-tree leans,
For death and change have been at work in all;
But still that woodland spells its mystic speech
In calm and wind, and all its speech I know:
'Tis ever fresh within my human heart.
Since thus the Blessed Master came at eve,
That dreaming copse, in yellow moonlight lying,
Bears witness in me through eternity
How in His very truth the Master came!
| The collected poems of Arthur Edward Waite | |