 | The poetical works of Edward Rowland Sill |  |
222
IS IT SAFE?
Two souls, whose bodies sate them on a hill,
And, beating idly on a stone, one said:
And, beating idly on a stone, one said:
“Yes, light is good, and air; but were it well
To burst the walls that keep the Terror out?
Let faith, my one great pearl, bide deep in the dark,
If love, its lustre, will be dulled in the sun.
See, now: a darkness round us in the world,—
This tossing world that rides upon the waves;
A glimmer overhead; the wrath and roar
Of awful waters rushing thunderously.
Slaves, penned in the pitch-dark hold, shall we go wild
To crush the planks through, mad for light and air,
And drawn in the swirling gulf of that despair?
Better to wait, and guess the end is good,
And hope in some great angel at the helm,
Poring on the mystic words they dropped—
Those dreaming shipmates, that these many nights
Have muttered in their dreams and prophesied.”
To burst the walls that keep the Terror out?
Let faith, my one great pearl, bide deep in the dark,
If love, its lustre, will be dulled in the sun.
See, now: a darkness round us in the world,—
This tossing world that rides upon the waves;
A glimmer overhead; the wrath and roar
Of awful waters rushing thunderously.
Slaves, penned in the pitch-dark hold, shall we go wild
To crush the planks through, mad for light and air,
And drawn in the swirling gulf of that despair?
Better to wait, and guess the end is good,
And hope in some great angel at the helm,
Poring on the mystic words they dropped—
Those dreaming shipmates, that these many nights
Have muttered in their dreams and prophesied.”
The other—grim, with eyes of fathomless trust—
Thus spake:
“A darkness round the sparrow's egg;
A warm thin wall; within a downy throb—
A fluttering heart. Strange noises swell, or swoon,
Outside that amber glimmer arching round.
The wind rocks bough and nest and mother bird;
The timid heart waits in a dizzy awe;
All things seem rushing like a roaring sea.
It struggles; shall it dare break through the wall—
This safe, smooth wall, so wisely built for it—
And let the unknown Terror in, and die?
With chip on chip of tiny crusted bill
The wall is cleft, and—lo! on perfumed wings
The sun leaps in with a laugh; the dancing leaves
Hang merrily beckoning, and blossom-boughs
Nod gayly to the whispering summer air.”
Thus spake:
223
A warm thin wall; within a downy throb—
A fluttering heart. Strange noises swell, or swoon,
Outside that amber glimmer arching round.
The wind rocks bough and nest and mother bird;
The timid heart waits in a dizzy awe;
All things seem rushing like a roaring sea.
It struggles; shall it dare break through the wall—
This safe, smooth wall, so wisely built for it—
And let the unknown Terror in, and die?
With chip on chip of tiny crusted bill
The wall is cleft, and—lo! on perfumed wings
The sun leaps in with a laugh; the dancing leaves
Hang merrily beckoning, and blossom-boughs
Nod gayly to the whispering summer air.”
| The poetical works of Edward Rowland Sill | |