The collected poems of Arthur Edward Waite in two volumes ... With a Portrait |
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GROUNDS OF UNION |
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 | The collected poems of Arthur Edward Waite |  |
83
GROUNDS OF UNION
There is no need to take thy hand,
To touch thy lips, or thee to greet;
Nor must I say in what far land,
Out of all time, we first did meet:
As in this russet hour we stand,
That which has parted us meseems
A curtain in some House of Dreams.
To touch thy lips, or thee to greet;
Nor must I say in what far land,
Out of all time, we first did meet:
As in this russet hour we stand,
That which has parted us meseems
A curtain in some House of Dreams.
Or, in this aching scheme of things,
If memories like these delude,
My yearning towards thee, taking wings,
Doth ever in the past intrude;
From such dim halls thy picture brings,
And—since it sees thee everywhere—
Can skry no world but thou art there.
If memories like these delude,
My yearning towards thee, taking wings,
Doth ever in the past intrude;
From such dim halls thy picture brings,
And—since it sees thee everywhere—
Can skry no world but thou art there.
I will not speak of love to thee,
For, having look'd in eyes like thine,
Past love's inscrutable mystery,
Something more sacred, more divine
And undeclared than love I see;
And what those secret depths infold,
That, in my heart, for thee I hold.
For, having look'd in eyes like thine,
Past love's inscrutable mystery,
Something more sacred, more divine
And undeclared than love I see;
And what those secret depths infold,
That, in my heart, for thee I hold.
Taught in strange schools, this earthly place
Finds task-work in my forms of speech;
But, looking on thy chasten'd face,
All hast thou learn'd which I would teach:
By thy tired eyes and tortured grace,
Surely when forming thee God sigh'd—
Thou art so wan, so mortified.
Finds task-work in my forms of speech;
But, looking on thy chasten'd face,
All hast thou learn'd which I would teach:
By thy tired eyes and tortured grace,
Surely when forming thee God sigh'd—
Thou art so wan, so mortified.
84
From us, whom Nature never knew,
That common health is far removed
Whereof old saints, with instinct true
But angel-mildness, disapproved:
They read our weakness through and through,
Saw that strong thews and nerves of earth
Win hardly towards the second birth.
That common health is far removed
Whereof old saints, with instinct true
But angel-mildness, disapproved:
They read our weakness through and through,
Saw that strong thews and nerves of earth
Win hardly towards the second birth.
The knots which bind our souls are such
As earthly ties would strain and start;
Each would not hold in each so much,
If ill-content on earth to part:
That once the ways we walk should touch
For consolation, not for need,
That which is merciful decreed.
As earthly ties would strain and start;
Each would not hold in each so much,
If ill-content on earth to part:
That once the ways we walk should touch
For consolation, not for need,
That which is merciful decreed.
Let then those ways divide, not they
Shall now conjoin or disconnect:
Thou wilt not fail me on a day,
Nor I from love's sheer height deflect
By reaching towards thy house of clay;
But when that day for me and thee
Comes, at the end, remember me!
Shall now conjoin or disconnect:
Thou wilt not fail me on a day,
Nor I from love's sheer height deflect
By reaching towards thy house of clay;
But when that day for me and thee
Comes, at the end, remember me!
In the great session, when They meet
For rites of union, thou wilt wait,
Knowing I follow on thy feet,
And I will pause, if thou be late,
A little at the mercy-seat;
Till God shall make us one in Him,
Hide under wings of seraphim.
For rites of union, thou wilt wait,
Knowing I follow on thy feet,
And I will pause, if thou be late,
A little at the mercy-seat;
Till God shall make us one in Him,
Hide under wings of seraphim.
| The collected poems of Arthur Edward Waite | |