An English Madonna :: :: University of Virginia Library

This was the marvel of thee,—that all the starlight followed
Thy steps, and shone around, and overtook and swallowed
All dark sad former things.
This was the wonder of thee,—that when I left thy presence
The sombre vast sweet night seemed one vast starlit pleasance
Full of the tender starshine of thy wings.

This was the glory of thee,—that all the sweet night found me
Because of thee, and wound its starlit wings around me
And kissed me into sleep.

Yea, every star stepped forth, between me and the sorrow
Of pale accustomed life that waited on the morrow:
Thine was the army of night's purple deep.

Between me and my past the whole star-army waited.—
Therefore it was that all my soul, set loose, elated,
Sprang forth with chainless glee.
The innumerable stars were as a hedge behind me
That never one fell throb of old-world pain might find me;
And all this vast star-army followed thee.

Thou wast the chieftainess of all the gathered legions
Whose golden serried spears filled the blue heavenly regions,
Each spear a valiant friend:
Yea, onward through the night the star-hosts marched together,
A night so still that one might hear a falling feather;
Onward they came, an army without end.

And then I heard strange voices;—voices of the flowers
And voices of my past; the voices of old hours
Of summers long since dead;
Voices of streams and hills, and voices of the mountains,
And voices of far-off white-footed laughing fountains;
Whispers of autumn sunsets golden-red;

Voices of leaves of trees, and voices of green meadows,
And voices of the limes tender with summer shadows;
And last of all to me
Came thrilling through the dark, sudden, without a presage,
The deep-voiced stern immense inevitable message,
Winged with large storm-winds, of the awful sea.

And this was what they said: “Deep in thy spirit know it;
Grasp this with grasp intense; cling to the knowledge, poet!
Through all thy days be sure
That never again the night will open thus her bosom

Nor ever again the leagues of golden star-flowers blossom
Enfolding thee in vast embrace and pure.

“This night thou hast the deep of heaven spread out before thee
And all the golden stars shake out their banners o'er thee
And rapture like a sea
Surges. But not again shall the deep heaven be tender.”—
Yet, love, that sacred night's unfathomable splendour
Took all its deathless boundless light from thee.

Sept. 17, 1883.