 | Poems of Charles Warren Stoddard . |  |
48
THE AWAKENING
I touched the shore in other climes
Encompassed by warm leagues of sea;
I breathed the spicy breath of limes
The sauntering gales bore down to me.
Encompassed by warm leagues of sea;
I breathed the spicy breath of limes
The sauntering gales bore down to me.
A hundred palms with feathered tips
Displayed their fair pavilion screens
Upon the yellow sandy slips;
Beyond the beating barks were seen.
Displayed their fair pavilion screens
Upon the yellow sandy slips;
Beyond the beating barks were seen.
And as the barks were blown across
The summer-blue of ocean's breast,
My thoughts were borne about to toss
Among the currents of unrest.
The summer-blue of ocean's breast,
My thoughts were borne about to toss
Among the currents of unrest.
My hammock swung within a shade,
I loosed my thoughts where they would rove,
Then sounds were hushed, the ships did fade,
I slumbered in the musky grove.
I loosed my thoughts where they would rove,
Then sounds were hushed, the ships did fade,
I slumbered in the musky grove.
49
I dreamed, and all my thoughts returned
Across the far-dividing deep,
And that dear land for which I yearned
I seemed to find in fevered sleep.
Across the far-dividing deep,
And that dear land for which I yearned
I seemed to find in fevered sleep.
In dreams I reached my native shore,
I found the year in deep decline,
The desolate, dull landscape bore
No hopeful look to answer mine.
I found the year in deep decline,
The desolate, dull landscape bore
No hopeful look to answer mine.
I faltered then and prayed for hope—
And hope is his whoever wills;
With half a hundred doubts to cope
I strode across the bronze-brown hills.
And hope is his whoever wills;
With half a hundred doubts to cope
I strode across the bronze-brown hills.
Then seeking with impulsive haste
Some phantom that my brain had wrought,
Old, dear familiar streets I paced,
But missed forever what I sought.
Some phantom that my brain had wrought,
Old, dear familiar streets I paced,
But missed forever what I sought.
Where were the faces that I knew?
Where were the hearts that I could trust?
Below the dark and lonely yew
Was heaped away their hallowed dust.
Where were the hearts that I could trust?
Below the dark and lonely yew
Was heaped away their hallowed dust.
50
“O Christ!” I cried, “who died for us
That we might live; one only kiss
From those mute lips!” “Why sorrow thus?
There is another life than this—”
That we might live; one only kiss
From those mute lips!” “Why sorrow thus?
There is another life than this—”
A mellow voice of heavenly calm
With its annunciation spilled
Soft chrism oils, and straight a balm
Fell on me, and my pain was stilled.
With its annunciation spilled
Soft chrism oils, and straight a balm
Fell on me, and my pain was stilled.
But then I pleaded: “Take me hence
To glorify Thee and adore,
For what are actions or events
With kindred gone forevermore?”
To glorify Thee and adore,
For what are actions or events
With kindred gone forevermore?”
The voice replied: “No action dies
Although forgotten long, it still
A sure conviction shall arise—
A spirit working good or ill.”
Although forgotten long, it still
A sure conviction shall arise—
A spirit working good or ill.”
Then shame smote crimson down my face,
I hastened from the place of tombs,
A lighter heart bespoke me grace,
I doffed my dismal cloak of glooms.
I hastened from the place of tombs,
A lighter heart bespoke me grace,
I doffed my dismal cloak of glooms.
51
I cried: “I will rejoice to do
Such deeds that nothing ill shall dare
To stand erected in the view
Of the new legend, fresh and fair.”
Such deeds that nothing ill shall dare
To stand erected in the view
Of the new legend, fresh and fair.”
Then swinging in my hammock, hung
In arbors filled with fine perfume,
My pulses quickened as they sung:
“We shall anon this task assume.”
In arbors filled with fine perfume,
My pulses quickened as they sung:
“We shall anon this task assume.”
And swaying with the swaying boughs,
With odors of the fruit and flower
About me, tempting me to drowse
Forever in the scented bower,
With odors of the fruit and flower
About me, tempting me to drowse
Forever in the scented bower,
There came a voice from out the waves,
It was not as the voice of men:
“All they that lie in loathèd graves,
They shall arise and live again;
It was not as the voice of men:
“All they that lie in loathèd graves,
They shall arise and live again;
“And whether urns with precious mold,
Or whether acts long since forgot,
A new shall come of every old,
There is no death in any lot.”
Or whether acts long since forgot,
A new shall come of every old,
There is no death in any lot.”
52
I could have turned as adders turn
To slay themselves in misery,
That I had lived my life to learn
So late the worth of life to me.
To slay themselves in misery,
That I had lived my life to learn
So late the worth of life to me.
O! foolish lips that were content
To sup the honey of soft song!
O! silly heart so sweetly blent
With harp-like music trilled too long!
To sup the honey of soft song!
O! silly heart so sweetly blent
With harp-like music trilled too long!
O! heavenly oracle divine
That filled my heart with holy flame,
What new delight of life is mine?
What miracle of hope and aim?
That filled my heart with holy flame,
What new delight of life is mine?
What miracle of hope and aim?
| Poems of Charles Warren Stoddard . | |