The collected poems of Arthur Edward Waite in two volumes ... With a Portrait |
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A SONG OF THE SLEEPING WORLD |
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 | The collected poems of Arthur Edward Waite |  |
A SONG OF THE SLEEPING WORLD
O not of the hush when a wind sinks down,
And the sea on its shore lies still,
As a winding highway broad and brown
Which clambers the crest of the hill;
Or as moonshaft struck through a cloven cloud
To repose on a mist impearl'd,
Where slips some stream through a valley of dream,
Is the song of the sleeping world!
And the sea on its shore lies still,
As a winding highway broad and brown
Which clambers the crest of the hill;
Or as moonshaft struck through a cloven cloud
To repose on a mist impearl'd,
Where slips some stream through a valley of dream,
Is the song of the sleeping world!
For the world still sleeps when the rack goes past
And the heart of Nature fails
At the bolt's reply to the moaning blast,
As the scattering storm assails;
Sleeps in the stir which the morning brings,
Sleeps through the Spring's new birth—
O the joyous word of the loudest bird
Is a song of the sleeping earth!
And the heart of Nature fails
At the bolt's reply to the moaning blast,
As the scattering storm assails;
Sleeps in the stir which the morning brings,
Sleeps through the Spring's new birth—
O the joyous word of the loudest bird
Is a song of the sleeping earth!
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All Nature is steep'd in a trance intense
And strangely moves in a dreamer's round,
As those that walk in their sleep, with sense
And soul unconscious to sight and sound;
At times to the waking point approaching,
Sinks she again into slumber deep;
An earthquake rends or a star descends—
She stirs or cries in her sleep.
And strangely moves in a dreamer's round,
As those that walk in their sleep, with sense
And soul unconscious to sight and sound;
At times to the waking point approaching,
Sinks she again into slumber deep;
An earthquake rends or a star descends—
She stirs or cries in her sleep.
It is man alone, in a world of spell,
Wakes or believes that he wakes and sees
More than this tremulous pendant bell,
Rock'd in the arms of an evening breeze;
More than that rack of a sea, distraught
As a dreamer's vision, of darkness born:
He too perchance in an anxious trance
Tosses and waits for the coming morn.
Wakes or believes that he wakes and sees
More than this tremulous pendant bell,
Rock'd in the arms of an evening breeze;
More than that rack of a sea, distraught
As a dreamer's vision, of darkness born:
He too perchance in an anxious trance
Tosses and waits for the coming morn.
Sleep that has kiss'd us too long, too long,
Where is the prince with the kiss that wakes?
What will he bring to us, sorrow or song?
What more sad than the sleep he takes?
Mournfully, smouldering sunset, fade,
Mournfully kindle, O morning blue!
But a day is at hand for the sea and land,
And a day for the soul is due!
Where is the prince with the kiss that wakes?
What will he bring to us, sorrow or song?
What more sad than the sleep he takes?
Mournfully, smouldering sunset, fade,
Mournfully kindle, O morning blue!
But a day is at hand for the sea and land,
And a day for the soul is due!
When shall it come with a trumpet's blare,
Fife and tocsin and roll of drum,
Tramp of cavalcades filling the air,
And the prince of all in the morning come?
Come in the morning or come in the night,
Whence we know not, O Lord of bliss!
Come at our call, and the lips of all
Will be life of life to Thy kiss!
Fife and tocsin and roll of drum,
Tramp of cavalcades filling the air,
And the prince of all in the morning come?
Come in the morning or come in the night,
Whence we know not, O Lord of bliss!
Come at our call, and the lips of all
Will be life of life to Thy kiss!
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Wake us; we sleep, but we dream of Thee:
Dreams, we have known them at board and bed:
Sleep and its rest on the earth or sea
To the heart of Thy heart are wed!
And hark through the wide earth, flushing and stirr'd,
A whisper, a rumour, a hint goes by,
And the breeze falls soft, as Thy lips shall oft—
O kiss us then lest we die!
Dreams, we have known them at board and bed:
Sleep and its rest on the earth or sea
To the heart of Thy heart are wed!
And hark through the wide earth, flushing and stirr'd,
A whisper, a rumour, a hint goes by,
And the breeze falls soft, as Thy lips shall oft—
O kiss us then lest we die!
Burden
For that light is the gleam of Thine eye,And waking, as yet we must wake, how bright
Is the light in which we shall see Thy light!
| The collected poems of Arthur Edward Waite | |