 | Stones from The Quarry |  |
THE QUESTION.
Between the upper and the nether millstone
Of this most dread “To be or not to be,”
My heart, which can nor stay them nor yet flee,
Is ground to powder; and, in atoms blown,
Life's hopes, loves, aspirations, joys, lie prone,
Prone in the dust. Death's all, in all I see;
To all of Woman born, as unto me,
He bars the way; the gate shuts—all is done!
And is it so? Those gloomy gates ajar
Stand not for long; no gleam their darkness lights;
A vague, dread sound comes when they open are,
To snatch their prey, with darkness that affrights;
Reverb of hollowness, more dreadful far
Than dire articulates, or défined sights!
Of this most dread “To be or not to be,”
My heart, which can nor stay them nor yet flee,
Is ground to powder; and, in atoms blown,
Life's hopes, loves, aspirations, joys, lie prone,
Prone in the dust. Death's all, in all I see;
To all of Woman born, as unto me,
He bars the way; the gate shuts—all is done!
And is it so? Those gloomy gates ajar
Stand not for long; no gleam their darkness lights;
A vague, dread sound comes when they open are,
To snatch their prey, with darkness that affrights;
Reverb of hollowness, more dreadful far
Than dire articulates, or défined sights!
94
Terror beside it sits; Terror struck dumb!
She lost her speech and reason, and came back,
Scared by the sights she saw, a maniac!
She hath not opened lips since: they who come
Her way, scarce look, and pass on trembling; some
Who question, ask no second; on her track,
That “Fórlorn-Hope,” the hardiest would be slack
To follow, who have seen and marked her doom!
Yet three divinest forms oft there are seen,
Together, or alone—together, strong
As Death; but singly not, nor now, I ween:
Love, Faith, and Hope. The Present doth belong
To Death; to them the Future's brighter scene;
Their triune strengths may right Death's solveless wrong!
She lost her speech and reason, and came back,
Scared by the sights she saw, a maniac!
She hath not opened lips since: they who come
Her way, scarce look, and pass on trembling; some
Who question, ask no second; on her track,
That “Fórlorn-Hope,” the hardiest would be slack
To follow, who have seen and marked her doom!
Yet three divinest forms oft there are seen,
Together, or alone—together, strong
As Death; but singly not, nor now, I ween:
Love, Faith, and Hope. The Present doth belong
To Death; to them the Future's brighter scene;
Their triune strengths may right Death's solveless wrong!
I must have Truth! As in a dungeon, air
To poor, pined prisoner, who at his bars
Gasps for it, gasp I up at those bright stars
For one breath of that Life Eternal-fair;
Without hope of which here, of itself there,
We're as the beasts that perish—that doubt mars
All, in all; th' adamantine wall that scares
And frowns, and hurls i' the dust who climb it dare!
I cannot take a fiction to my heart,
Ixion-like, embrace it as divine;
As from pollution backward should I start,
If Truth, Truth innermost, not thro' all shine.
For her pure self, withouten guile or art,
I love her; let her then, O God, be mine!
To poor, pined prisoner, who at his bars
Gasps for it, gasp I up at those bright stars
For one breath of that Life Eternal-fair;
Without hope of which here, of itself there,
We're as the beasts that perish—that doubt mars
All, in all; th' adamantine wall that scares
And frowns, and hurls i' the dust who climb it dare!
I cannot take a fiction to my heart,
Ixion-like, embrace it as divine;
As from pollution backward should I start,
If Truth, Truth innermost, not thro' all shine.
For her pure self, withouten guile or art,
I love her; let her then, O God, be mine!
| Stones from The Quarry | |