Bird-Notes by Evelyn Douglas [i.e. J. E. Barlas] |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. | VI.
The Mystery. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| IX. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
| XXXI. |
| XXXII. |
| XXXIII. |
| XXXIV. |
| XXXV. |
| XXXVI. |
| XXXVII. |
| XXXVIII. |
| XXXIX. |
 | Bird-Notes |  |
18
VI. The Mystery.
What is it I know, I feel,
At moments blind with tears,
Voices from Paradise that steal,
Glimpses beyond the spheres?
At moments blind with tears,
Voices from Paradise that steal,
Glimpses beyond the spheres?
What is it like a melody
At which the whole heart aches,
Neither within nor out of me,
That suddenly awakes?
At which the whole heart aches,
Neither within nor out of me,
That suddenly awakes?
Upon a woman's flushing throat
I hear it pause and sing,
I feel it in a sky-lark's note,
Aud in a swallow's wing,
I hear it pause and sing,
I feel it in a sky-lark's note,
Aud in a swallow's wing,
The mellow purple hills afar,
The moonlight on the lea,
The passage of a shooting star
The silence of the sea.
The moonlight on the lea,
The passage of a shooting star
The silence of the sea.
19
What is it that we call love,
Worship, and art, and song?—
A music soft as chorus of
A gathering angel-throng;—
Worship, and art, and song?—
A music soft as chorus of
A gathering angel-throng;—
A whisper, as of seas and streams,
From distant planets borne;
An utterance like the voice of dreams
Upon the verge of morn;—
From distant planets borne;
An utterance like the voice of dreams
Upon the verge of morn;—
A brush as of swift seraph-wings
That through the twilight pass;
A sigh as of the murmurings
Of the night-wind in the grass—
That through the twilight pass;
A sigh as of the murmurings
Of the night-wind in the grass—
What is it that is all unknown
But is the soul of us,
That comes, that leaves us quite alone,
So vague, mysterious?
But is the soul of us,
That comes, that leaves us quite alone,
So vague, mysterious?
What is it for which we yearn?—
Stars, sky, and sea are dumb.
Ah peace! for we shall never learn,
But wait and it will come.
Stars, sky, and sea are dumb.
Ah peace! for we shall never learn,
But wait and it will come.
| Bird-Notes | |