 | The Poems and Plays of William Vaughn Moody |  |
144
THE THREE ANGELS
Before my feet the curving strand
Unblurs its outline from the sea,
And light feels upward like a hand
To find if yet creation be.
Like one whose eyes in fear are furled
It feels about the pallid world,
And gropes and lingers anxiously.
Unblurs its outline from the sea,
And light feels upward like a hand
To find if yet creation be.
Like one whose eyes in fear are furled
It feels about the pallid world,
And gropes and lingers anxiously.
And sure at length that all is good,
Upon the pavement of the deep
Dawn walks with wings that burn abroad
And lifted hands that seem to keep
Attention till a word be said;
And now day lifts above its head
A harp that soon those hands will sweep.
Upon the pavement of the deep
Dawn walks with wings that burn abroad
And lifted hands that seem to keep
Attention till a word be said;
And now day lifts above its head
A harp that soon those hands will sweep.
O angel day, if thou wilt sing
Look hither what has fallen to us—
Me on the bright beach wandering
And her within the cliff-hung house!
The word thou darest not say, she says;
A wilder than thy song, I raise
Above the passes perilous.
Look hither what has fallen to us—
Me on the bright beach wandering
And her within the cliff-hung house!
The word thou darest not say, she says;
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Above the passes perilous.
Last night I sat at her right hand:
Though Death upon the left hand stood,
Our hearts were ne'er so light and bland;
As in a moonlit summer wood
Friend unto happy friend we spake,
As swan by swan on a windless lake
We drifted down God's glassy flood.
Though Death upon the left hand stood,
Our hearts were ne'er so light and bland;
As in a moonlit summer wood
Friend unto happy friend we spake,
As swan by swan on a windless lake
We drifted down God's glassy flood.
We had been sweet friends long before,
But till this evening's dark mischance,
Aye, never till this deep death-hour
Had such a heart been ours to dance
Childlike upon the hills of glee;
So on those hills she played with me,
Through swooning pain and ether trance.
But till this evening's dark mischance,
Aye, never till this deep death-hour
Had such a heart been ours to dance
Childlike upon the hills of glee;
So on those hills she played with me,
Through swooning pain and ether trance.
And yet had not been breathed a sound
Of love, nor a thought of love been thought.
With light of light her brow was wound
When mutely she made question, “What
Means this strange light about your brow?”
And I made answer mute, “You know
It is the love that we have found.”
Of love, nor a thought of love been thought.
With light of light her brow was wound
When mutely she made question, “What
Means this strange light about your brow?”
And I made answer mute, “You know
It is the love that we have found.”
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Like flame afar her life did rise
And from the ends of being came,
Bare as at birth, without disguise,
To meet my spirit's naked flame
Which towered from out the primal mist
To her.—Her lips lay all unkissed;
We made no sign, we named no name.
And from the ends of being came,
Bare as at birth, without disguise,
To meet my spirit's naked flame
Which towered from out the primal mist
To her.—Her lips lay all unkissed;
We made no sign, we named no name.
O angel day, O seraph bright!
As thou upon the mortal deep
We o'er these coasts of deathless light,
With lifted wings strong silence keep.
Between the plumed and whispering fires
We raise on high the golden lyres
Which soon our burning hands shall smite!
As thou upon the mortal deep
We o'er these coasts of deathless light,
With lifted wings strong silence keep.
Between the plumed and whispering fires
We raise on high the golden lyres
Which soon our burning hands shall smite!
| The Poems and Plays of William Vaughn Moody | |