University of Virginia Library

A House miraculous of breath
The royal Soul inhabiteth.
Alone therein for evermore,
It seeks in vain to pass the door;
But through the windows of the eyne
Signalleth to its kin divine. ...
This is a song Orm sang of old
To Oona with the locks of gold.

Come to me! clasp me!
Spirit to spirit!
Bosom to bosom!
Tenderly, clingingly,
Mingle to one! . . .

Now, from my kisses
Withdrawing, and blushing,
Why dost thou gaze on me?
Why dost thou weep?
Why dost thou cling to me,
Imploring, adoring?
What are those meanings
That flash from thine eyes?

Pitiful! pitiful!
Now I conceive thee!—
Yea, it were easier
Striking two swords,
To weld them together,
Than spirit with spirit
To mingle, though rapture
Be perfect as this.
Shut in a tremulous
Prison, each spirit
Hungers and yearns—
Never, ah never,
Belovëd, belovëd,
Have these eyes look'd on
The face of thy Soul.

Ours are two dwellings,
Wondrously beautiful,
Made in the darkness
Of soft-tinted flesh:
In the one dwelling,
Prison'd I dwell,
And lo! from the other
Thou beckonest me!
I am a Soul!
Thou art a Soul!
These are our dwellings!
O to be free!

Beauteous, belovëd,
Is thy dear dwelling;
All o'er it blowing
The roses of dawn—
Bright is the portal,
The dwelling is scented
Within and without;
Strange are the windows,
So clouded with azure,
The faces are hidden
That look from within.

Now I approach thee,
Sweetness and odour
Tremble upon me—
Wild is the rapture!
Thick is the perfume!
Sweet bursts of music
Thrill from within!
Closer, yet closer!
Bosom to bosom!
Tenderly, clingingly,
Mingle to one. ...
Ah! but what faces
Are those that look forth! ...

Faces? What faces? As I speak they die
And all my gaze is empty as of old.
O love! the world was fair, and everywhere
Rose wondrous human dwellings like mine own,
And many of these were foul and dark with dust,
Haunted by things obscene, not beautiful,
But most were very royal, meet to serve
Angels for habitation. All alone
Brooded my Soul by a mysterious fire
Dim-burning, never-dying, from the first
Lit in the place by God; the winds and rains
Struck on the abode and spared it; day and night
Above it came and went; and in the night
My Soul gazed from the threshold silently,
And saw the congregated lamps that swung
Above it in the dark and dreamy blue;
And in the day my Soul gazed on the earth,
And sought the dwellings there for signs, and lo!
None answer'd; for the Souls inhabitant
Drew coldly back and darken'd; and I said,
‘In all the habitations I behold,
Some old, some young, some fair, and some not fair,
There dwells no Soul I know.’ But as I spake,
I saw beside me in a dreamy light
Thy habitation, so serene and fair,
So stately in a rosy dawn of day,
That all my Soul look'd forth and cried, ‘Behold,
The sweetest dwelling in the whole wide world!’
And thought not of the inmate, but gazed on,
Lingeringly, hushfully; for as I gazed
Something came glistening up into thine eyes,
And beckon'd, and a murmur from the portal,
A murmur and a perfume, floated hither,
Thrill'd through my dwelling, making every chamber
Tremble with mystical,
Dazzling desire!

... Come to me! close to me!
Bosom to bosom!
Tenderly, clingingly,
Mingle to one!
Wildly within me
Some eager inmate
Rushes and trembles,
Peers from the eyes
And calls in the ears,
Yearns to thee, cries to thee!
Claiming old kinship
In lives far removed! . .
Vainly, ah vainly!
Pent in its prison
Must each miraculous
Spirit remain,—
Yet inarticulate,
Striving to language
Music and memory,
Rapture and dream!

Rapture and dream! Belovëd one, in vain
My spirit seeks for utterance. Alas,
Not yet shall there be speech. Not yet, not yet,
One dweller in a mortal tenement
Can know what secret faces hide away
Within the neighbouring dwelling. Ah beloved,
The mystery, the mystery! We cry
For God's face, who have never looked upon
The poorest Soul's face in the wonderful
Soul-haunted world. A spirit once there dwelt
Beside me, close as thou—two wedded souls,
We mingled—flesh was mixed with flesh—we knew
All joys, all unreserves of mingled life—
Yea, not a sunbeam filled the house of one
But touched the other's threshold. Hear me swear
I never knew that Soul! All touch, all sound,
All light was insufficient. The Soul, pent
In its strange chambers, cried to mine in vain—
We saw each other not: but oftentimes
When I was glad, the windows of my neighbour
Were dark and drawn, as for a funeral;
And sometimes, when, most weary of the world,
My Soul was looking forth at dead of night,
I saw the neighbouring dwelling brightly lit,
The happy windows flooded full of light,
As if a feast were being held within.
Yet were there passing flashes, random gleams,
Low sounds, from the inhabitant divine
I knew not; and I shrunk from some of these
In a mysterious pain. At last, Belovëd,
The frail fair mansion where that spirit dwelt
Totter'd and trembled, through the wondrous flesh
A dim sick glimmer from the fire within
Grew fainter, fainter. ‘I am going away,’
The Spirit seemed to cry; and as it cried,
Stood still and dim and very beautiful
Up in the windows of the eyes—there linger'd,
First seen, last seen, a moment, silently
So different, more beautiful tenfold
Than all that I had dreamed—I sobbed aloud
‘Stay! stay!’ but at the one despairing word
The spirit faded, from the hearth within
The dim fire died with one last quivering gleam—
The house became a ruin; and I moaned
‘God help me! 'twas herself that look'd at me!
First seen! I never knew her face before! ..
Too late! too late! too late!’

... Yea, from my forehead
Kiss the dark fantasy!
Tenderly, clingingly,
Mingle to one!
Is not this language?
Music and memory,
Rapture and dream?—
O in the dewy-bright
Day-dawn of love,
Is it not wondrous,
Blush-red with roses,
The beautiful, mystical
House of the Soul!
Lo in my innermost
Chambers is floating
Soft perfume and music
That tremble from thee. ...
Ah, but what faces
Are these, that look forth?

Sit, still, Belovëd, while I search thy looks
For memories. O thou art beautiful!
Crownëd with silken gold,—soft amber tints
Coming and going on thy peach-hued flesh,—
Thy breath a perfume,—thy blue eyes twain stars—
Thy lips like dewy rosebuds to the eye,
Though living to the touch. O royal abode,
Flooded with music, light, and precious scent,
Curtainëd soft with subtle mystery!
Nay, stir not, but gaze on, still and serene,
Possessing me with thy superb still sweep
Of eyes ineffable—sit still, my queen,
And let me, clinging on thee, court the ways
Wherein I know thee. Nay, even now, Belovëd,
When all the world like some vast tidal wave
Withdraws and leaves us on a golden shore
Alone together—when thou most art mine—
When the winds blow for us, and the soft stars
Are shining for us, where we dream apart,—
Now our two dwellings in a dizzy hour
Have mingled their foundations—clinging thus
And hungering round me in mine ecstasy,—
Belovëd, do I know thee? Hath my Soul
Spoken to thine the imperial speech of Souls,
Perfect in meaning and in melody?
Tell me, Belovëd, while thou sittest so,
Mine own, my queen, my palace of delights,
What lights are these that pass and come again
Within thee? Is the Spirit looking forth,
Or is it but the glittering gleams of time
Playing on vacant windows? Can I swear
Thou thinkest of me now at all? Behold
Now all thy beauty is suffused with brightness—
Thou blushest and thou smilest. Tell me true,
Thou then wast far within, and with that cry
I woke thee out of dream. O speak to me!—
Soul's speech, Belovëd! Do not smile that way—
A flood of brightness issues from thy door,
But mine is scarcely bright. Lovest thou me,
Belovëd, my belovëd? Soul belovëd,
Do I possess thee? Sight and scent and touch
Are insufficient. Open! let me in
To the strange chambers I have never seen!
Heart of the rose, unopen! or I die!