Ranolf and Amohia A dream of two lives. By Alfred Domett. New edition, revised |
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 | Ranolf and Amohia |  |
91
XIV.
“Life's the green Cone-cap hiding for its hour
That golden Californian poppy-bud;
Death pulls it off—outbursts the Soul—the flower!”—
(So mused that time-worn Sage)—“The Soul when freed
From its environment of flesh and blood
Will flush into full-blooming power
The riddle of its folded fate to read.—
That golden Californian poppy-bud;
Death pulls it off—outbursts the Soul—the flower!”—
(So mused that time-worn Sage)—“The Soul when freed
From its environment of flesh and blood
Will flush into full-blooming power
The riddle of its folded fate to read.—
See the dilating Sun
Down to the mountains sunk!
An awful human Eye
Beneath such sable brows—
Cloud-stripes like Cedar-boughs
Soft-floated off some giant trunk
Of ancient Lebanon.
Down to the mountains sunk!
An awful human Eye
Beneath such sable brows—
Cloud-stripes like Cedar-boughs
Soft-floated off some giant trunk
Of ancient Lebanon.
Why are you watching there,
O great red Mystery—why?—
Just as—with ominous glare
Yet grandly—solemnly sublime,
O'er mortal Life and fleeting Time,
Watches Eternity!
O great red Mystery—why?—
Just as—with ominous glare
Yet grandly—solemnly sublime,
O'er mortal Life and fleeting Time,
Watches Eternity!
—Watches; and yet can throw
A magic mellowed glow
Of Hope o'er Life's mysterious doom,
As balmy Evening's soothing gloom
You sanctify—illume!—
The sandbank of the Sea-lagoon
You glorify to gold;
Crimson the jet-white sandbirds—soon
To cease their restless run, and fold
Their wings on sea-roost cold.
I saw you rise this Morn.
A magic mellowed glow
Of Hope o'er Life's mysterious doom,
As balmy Evening's soothing gloom
You sanctify—illume!—
92
You glorify to gold;
Crimson the jet-white sandbirds—soon
To cease their restless run, and fold
Their wings on sea-roost cold.
On the black Mountain's rim there came
Some little tongues of shifting flame;
They linked—a dome grew slow in sight,
Then throbbed—a sphere of blinding light!
Low down, right opposite,—
The wan full Moon, dead-white,
Disconsolate—forlorn,
Lingered in shy retreat
To see what glad reception might
Her dazzling rival greet.
—So looks poor Faith at Science. Yet
Why should she at the splendour fret,
(I thought) the glory shun?
Her turn will come; that rival bright
Will fill—or own her full of light
Ere all be done!”
| Ranolf and Amohia | |