 | Poems by Jean Ingelow |  |
I
I woke in the night, and the darkness was heavy and deep;I had known it was dark in my sleep,
And I rose and looked out,
And the fathomless vault was all sparkling, set thick round about
With the ancient inhabiters silent, and wheeling too far
For man's heart, like a voyaging frigate, to sail, where remote
In the sheen of their glory they float,
Or man's soul, like a bird, to fly near, of their beams to partake,
And dazed in their wake,
Drink day that is born of a star.
I murmured, ‘Remoteness and greatness, how deep you are set,
How afar in the rim of the whole;
You know nothing of me, or of man, nor of earth, O, nor yet
Of our light-bearer—drawing the marvellous moons as they roll,
Of our regent, the sun.
I look on you trembling, and think, in the dark with my soul,
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These are greater than we, every one.’
And there falls a great fear, and a dread cometh over, that cries,
‘O my hope! Is there any mistake?
Did He speak? Did I hear? Did I listen aright, if He spake?
Did I answer Him duly? For surely I now am awake,
If never I woke until now.’
And a light, baffling wind, that leads nowhither, plays on my brow.
As a sleep, I must think on my day, of my path as untrod,
Or trodden in dreams, in a dreamland whose coasts are a doubt;
Whose countries recede from my thoughts, as they grope round about,
And vanish, and tell me not how.
Be kind to our darkness, O Fashioner, dwelling in light,
And feeding the lamps of the sky;
Look down upon this one, and let it be sweet in Thy sight,
I pray Thee, to-night.
O watch whom Thou madest to dwell on its soil, Thou
Most High!
For this is a world full of sorrow (there may be but one);
Keep watch o'er its dust, else Thy children for aye are undone,
For this is a world where we die.
| Poems by Jean Ingelow | |