In My Lady's Praise Being Poems, Old and New: Written to the Honour of Fanny, Lady Arnold and Now Collected for her Memory: By Sir Edwin Arnold |
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 | In My Lady's Praise |  |
129
To a Sleeping Lady.
Darling! as you lie there sleeping, with the holy angels keeping
Watch and ward around your pillow, shading it with wings of gold—
Sentinels whose happy duty is to guard your grace and beauty—
While you lie there dreaming, seeming all your sweet self, calm and cold,
Who would think that the true treasure of that casket, beyond measure
Rich, and fair, and finished, is not where the quiet casket lies?
That they see the palace-portal set ajar, and the Immortal
Gone forth from its rosy gateway, locking satin lids on eyes?
Watch and ward around your pillow, shading it with wings of gold—
Sentinels whose happy duty is to guard your grace and beauty—
While you lie there dreaming, seeming all your sweet self, calm and cold,
Who would think that the true treasure of that casket, beyond measure
Rich, and fair, and finished, is not where the quiet casket lies?
That they see the palace-portal set ajar, and the Immortal
Gone forth from its rosy gateway, locking satin lids on eyes?
Yet so it is. Sweetest woman! and what's there is but the human
Robe and raiment which your spirit wears, to walk with all the rest,
Regal raiment! Ah! the silky wavelets of that hair! the milky
Whiteness of the brow, the neck, the small hands folded o'er the breast!
As a Queen's grace seems to linger in the pearl-strings which her finger
Loosened—so thy soul leaves glory on that sleeping form of thine;
But the slender, fair, still body is not that which most I worship,
And your soul—my Pride! my Bride!—is here, and talking low with mine.
Robe and raiment which your spirit wears, to walk with all the rest,
Regal raiment! Ah! the silky wavelets of that hair! the milky
Whiteness of the brow, the neck, the small hands folded o'er the breast!
130
Loosened—so thy soul leaves glory on that sleeping form of thine;
But the slender, fair, still body is not that which most I worship,
And your soul—my Pride! my Bride!—is here, and talking low with mine.
All because, at such an hour, Love hath so much charm and power,
Life hath so much deeper knowledge of its march and mystery,
That so soon as I invite it—coy no longer, but delighted,
Forth thy quick and gentle spirit comes for fellowship with me.
And, beside my spirit sitting, thoughts with deep thoughts interknitting,
Speaking plainly in a silence clearer, dearer far than speech,
Mine grows all thine inmost being; and I see thee more than seeing—
I and thou as one together; blended, ended, each in each.
Life hath so much deeper knowledge of its march and mystery,
That so soon as I invite it—coy no longer, but delighted,
Forth thy quick and gentle spirit comes for fellowship with me.
And, beside my spirit sitting, thoughts with deep thoughts interknitting,
Speaking plainly in a silence clearer, dearer far than speech,
Mine grows all thine inmost being; and I see thee more than seeing—
I and thou as one together; blended, ended, each in each.
| In My Lady's Praise | |