 | Passion-Flowers |  |
153
MIDNIGHT.
I love to walk the darkness
On the Midnight's folded arm,
Between Earth's struggling currents
And Heaven's blue depths of calm,
On the Midnight's folded arm,
Between Earth's struggling currents
And Heaven's blue depths of calm,
And prove the ghostly terrors,
Which, all too wild for sight,
Throng on the teeming fancy
At the solemn noon of night;
Which, all too wild for sight,
Throng on the teeming fancy
At the solemn noon of night;
And mark the mocking contrast
Of the gentle and the loud,
When all the powers of being
To height and crisis crowd.
Of the gentle and the loud,
When all the powers of being
To height and crisis crowd.
154
The saint that, on the housetop,
Tells by the stars his prayer,
Hears the rude Bacchanalian
Profane the slumb'rous air.
Tells by the stars his prayer,
Hears the rude Bacchanalian
Profane the slumb'rous air.
The golden hymn of silence
Pauses for his amen;
But lo! his lips are palsied
By some Erotic strain.
Pauses for his amen;
But lo! his lips are palsied
By some Erotic strain.
For midnight lends a passion
To all of soul and sense;
The wine-cup grows more maddening,
The music more intense.
To all of soul and sense;
The wine-cup grows more maddening,
The music more intense.
Then swifter whirl the dancers,
And wilder plays the band;
More ruthless throws the gamester
Perdition from his hand.
And wilder plays the band;
More ruthless throws the gamester
Perdition from his hand.
The thief has bolder daring
To force through bolt and bar;
The man of blood more lightly
Follows his crimson star.
To force through bolt and bar;
The man of blood more lightly
Follows his crimson star.
155
The wanton's haggard features
Glow then through all their paint;
And paler, in his rapture,
Turns the transfigured saint.
Glow then through all their paint;
And paler, in his rapture,
Turns the transfigured saint.
Friends who await the hour,
In memory of the dead,
Drink then the pledge of sorrow,
And break the solemn bread;
In memory of the dead,
Drink then the pledge of sorrow,
And break the solemn bread;
While the maiden, from her lattice,
More timidly doth move;
Oh! terrible is Midnight
With the thought of one we love.
More timidly doth move;
Oh! terrible is Midnight
With the thought of one we love.
Upon my brow and bosom
Let holy lilies lie,
By the child Jesus gathered
In radiant infancy;
Let holy lilies lie,
By the child Jesus gathered
In radiant infancy;
Then, when the midnight fever
Rushes through heart and brain,
I hold them here, I press them there,
And God is felt again.
Rushes through heart and brain,
I hold them here, I press them there,
And God is felt again.
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