 | Western windows and other poems |  |
126
TO GRACE AT CHRISTMAS.
WITH AN EASTERN FAIRY-BOOK.
Sweet Fairyland! at Christmas, lo!
Thy sunken splendors shine
To those who, Westward, farther go
Out of the East divine—
Dear wonder-world by childhood won,
Lost Miracle of the Morning sun!
Thy sunken splendors shine
To those who, Westward, farther go
Out of the East divine—
Dear wonder-world by childhood won,
Lost Miracle of the Morning sun!
A blind man prison'd in the light,
Still, as a blinded man, I look
At the old shapes of vanish'd sight
In Memory's Marvel-Book.
I turn the pages, leaf by leaf,
And Fancy makes-believe belief!
Still, as a blinded man, I look
At the old shapes of vanish'd sight
In Memory's Marvel-Book.
I turn the pages, leaf by leaf,
And Fancy makes-believe belief!
But now at charmed words, alas!
The treasure-doors have Treasury locks;
Aladdin's lamp (or gold or brass?)
I rub: the Genius knocks!—
This coal-oil lamp was just in place:
“Come in”—a Genius? No, a Grace!
The treasure-doors have Treasury locks;
Aladdin's lamp (or gold or brass?)
I rub: the Genius knocks!—
This coal-oil lamp was just in place:
“Come in”—a Genius? No, a Grace!
127
Sweet little maiden, to your sight
Fairies and Fairy-worlds may rise;
The East to you shows joyous light
Where in his cradle lies
God's Gentle Child—this lovely morn
I saw him dead and crown'd with thorn!
Fairies and Fairy-worlds may rise;
The East to you shows joyous light
Where in his cradle lies
God's Gentle Child—this lovely morn
I saw him dead and crown'd with thorn!
A dreamer's fancy—never mind;
You'd have a Fairy-Book, you said:
A gift of sunshine gives the blind
When the sweet dreams are dead,
I pray that from your eyes and heart
Faith, the True Fairy, 'll ne'er depart!
You'd have a Fairy-Book, you said:
A gift of sunshine gives the blind
When the sweet dreams are dead,
I pray that from your eyes and heart
Faith, the True Fairy, 'll ne'er depart!
December 25, 1862.
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