[Poems by Whitman in] The ladies' wreath a selection from the female poetic writers of England and America |
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THE BLIND MAN'S LAY. |
 | [Poems by Whitman in] The ladies' wreath |  |
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THE BLIND MAN'S LAY.
“At times Allan felt as if his blindness were a blessing—for it forced him to trust to his own soul—to turn for comfort to the best and purest human affections—and to see God always. Fanny could almost have wept to see the earth and the sky so beautiful, now that Allan's eyes were dark; but he whispered to her, that the smell of the budding trees and of the primroses, that he knew were near his feet, was pleasant indeed, and that the singing of all the little birds made his heart dance within him.”—
Lights and Shadows of Scottish Life.
He sat beside the fountain, on whose brink
A troop of blue-eyed violets oped their lids
To the first breezy call of early spring—
And there, from the grey dawn till twilight's gloom,
Where the soft, springing moss, surcharged with dew,
Yielded its oozing moisture to the touch,
Telling the nightfall near,—he mused away
Long hours of silent happiness, save when
The soft and pitying words of love would call
His spell-bound spirit from its blissful thrall;
Then, in a voice of sweetest melody,
He breathed his unrepining, meek reply:
A troop of blue-eyed violets oped their lids
To the first breezy call of early spring—
And there, from the grey dawn till twilight's gloom,
Where the soft, springing moss, surcharged with dew,
Yielded its oozing moisture to the touch,
Telling the nightfall near,—he mused away
Long hours of silent happiness, save when
The soft and pitying words of love would call
His spell-bound spirit from its blissful thrall;
Then, in a voice of sweetest melody,
He breathed his unrepining, meek reply:
Though I hear thee gaily tell
Of the tulip's shaded bell,
Of the wall-flower's varied hue,
And the violet “darkly blue,”
And the crimson blush that glows
On the rich, voluptuous rose—
These no longer bloom for me,
These I never more may see.
Of the tulip's shaded bell,
Of the wall-flower's varied hue,
And the violet “darkly blue,”
And the crimson blush that glows
On the rich, voluptuous rose—
These no longer bloom for me,
These I never more may see.
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But this gentle season still
Can my heart with gladness fill—
I can hear the spring-winds blow,
And the gurgling fountains flow.
Hark! e'en now a zephyr breathes,
Through the balmy hawthorn wreaths,
Unfelt, unheard by all but me,
It swells so soft, so silently!
Can my heart with gladness fill—
I can hear the spring-winds blow,
And the gurgling fountains flow.
Hark! e'en now a zephyr breathes,
Through the balmy hawthorn wreaths,
Unfelt, unheard by all but me,
It swells so soft, so silently!
I can hear the humming-bee
Flitting o'er the sunny lea,
Wooing every bashful flower,
From morn till evening's dewy hour.
All around the voice of birds,
And the lisped and laughing words
Of merry childhood, greet my ear,
With power the saddest heart to cheer.
Flitting o'er the sunny lea,
Wooing every bashful flower,
From morn till evening's dewy hour.
All around the voice of birds,
And the lisped and laughing words
Of merry childhood, greet my ear,
With power the saddest heart to cheer.
When o'er earth night's shadow lies,
I hear thee tell of cloudless skies,
And countless stars that twinkle through
Heaven's broad and boundless arch of blue;
Of snow white spires and turrets fair
Soft gleaming in the moonlit air,
Whose dusky depths of shadow lie
Heightening the brilliant scenery.
I hear thee tell of cloudless skies,
And countless stars that twinkle through
Heaven's broad and boundless arch of blue;
Of snow white spires and turrets fair
Soft gleaming in the moonlit air,
Whose dusky depths of shadow lie
Heightening the brilliant scenery.
Then beneath the pine trees tall,
Near yonder foaming waterfall,
I listen to the stock dove's wail,
Far floating through the quiet vale;
Soft sighing breezes waft to me
The fragrance of the birchen tree—
And the “brawling burnie” wimples by
With a gush of soothing melody.
Near yonder foaming waterfall,
I listen to the stock dove's wail,
Far floating through the quiet vale;
Soft sighing breezes waft to me
The fragrance of the birchen tree—
And the “brawling burnie” wimples by
With a gush of soothing melody.
E'en all sweet sense of these will fade
At times—as though impervious shade
Like that which hides me from the day,
O'er each external image lay—
Then many a form thou canst not see,
Unfolds its sun-bright wings to me,
And deep within my silent soul
High thoughts and holiest visions roll.
At times—as though impervious shade
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O'er each external image lay—
Then many a form thou canst not see,
Unfolds its sun-bright wings to me,
And deep within my silent soul
High thoughts and holiest visions roll.
Full many an angel messenger
Comes down my darksome path to cheer,
And all around my sylvan throne
There seems to wake a dreamy tone
Of solemn music through the air,
So wildly sweet—so silvery clear—
So full of heaven—no tongue can tell
The raptures that my bosom swell.
Comes down my darksome path to cheer,
And all around my sylvan throne
There seems to wake a dreamy tone
Of solemn music through the air,
So wildly sweet—so silvery clear—
So full of heaven—no tongue can tell
The raptures that my bosom swell.
Not all the joys that have their birth
In the vain pageantries of earth,
Are half so fraught with power to bless,
So rich in pensive happiness.
Wrapt in these lonely reveries,
Serene and holy transports rise,
Such as we deem pure spirits know,
Such as from God's felt presence flow.
In the vain pageantries of earth,
Are half so fraught with power to bless,
So rich in pensive happiness.
Wrapt in these lonely reveries,
Serene and holy transports rise,
Such as we deem pure spirits know,
Such as from God's felt presence flow.
Thus, when affliction's friendly screen
Shuts out life's vain illusive scene—
When thus she seals our weary eyes
To all its glittering vanities,
A gleam of heavenly light will pour
Our dark despairing spirits o'er,
And Faith, with meek and steadfast eye,
Far glancing through eternity,
Shuts out life's vain illusive scene—
When thus she seals our weary eyes
To all its glittering vanities,
A gleam of heavenly light will pour
Our dark despairing spirits o'er,
And Faith, with meek and steadfast eye,
Far glancing through eternity,
Sees where the heavenly mansions rise,
Of her bright home beyond the skies,
Whose golden fanes sublimely tower
High o'er the clouds that round us lower.
Then welcome sorrow's shrouding shade:
Fade! scenes of earthly splendor, fade!
And leave me to that dawning ray
That brightens till the “perfect day.”
Of her bright home beyond the skies,
Whose golden fanes sublimely tower
High o'er the clouds that round us lower.
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Fade! scenes of earthly splendor, fade!
And leave me to that dawning ray
That brightens till the “perfect day.”
| [Poems by Whitman in] The ladies' wreath | |