 | Under the dawn |  |
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THE SPIRIT OF BEAUTY.
The Spirit of Beauty sang to me
A soft ear-clasping strain,
Of moons, of suns, and of the sea,
Of snow-showers and of rain,
Of terror, of strife, and agony,
Of hearts rent, and of pain.
A soft ear-clasping strain,
Of moons, of suns, and of the sea,
Of snow-showers and of rain,
Of terror, of strife, and agony,
Of hearts rent, and of pain.
But thro' the song there ran a sense
Of sweet things yet to come,
Beyond our earthly hearing dense,
Of flowers superb with bloom,
Of the overthrow of every fence,
The unfastening of each tomb.
Of sweet things yet to come,
Beyond our earthly hearing dense,
Of flowers superb with bloom,
Of the overthrow of every fence,
The unfastening of each tomb.
I felt that I could see the whole,
No longer as in part
Seeing—the waves aside did roll
That suffocate the heart
Of mankind; as a broken bowl
Death did asunder start;
No longer as in part
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That suffocate the heart
Of mankind; as a broken bowl
Death did asunder start;
The wine of life flowed fair and free
From that pale broken glass,
I heard the thunder of the sea,
Drowned mariners did pass
Before my gaze; they smiled on me
Like flowers that smile in grass.
From that pale broken glass,
I heard the thunder of the sea,
Drowned mariners did pass
Before my gaze; they smiled on me
Like flowers that smile in grass.
So these smiled, thro' the herbage rank
Of the slowly-yielding deep,
Slow-climbing from that monstrous tank
Up black cliffs sheer and steep,
Leaving behind their bones that stank,
Bringing only eyes to weep.
Of the slowly-yielding deep,
Slow-climbing from that monstrous tank
Up black cliffs sheer and steep,
Leaving behind their bones that stank,
Bringing only eyes to weep.
I knew them by their eyes that shone
More bright than heretofore,
Although their living flesh was gone,
Left rotting on the shore,
Yea, piled in putrid heaps and wan
Where they were slain of yore.
More bright than heretofore,
Although their living flesh was gone,
Left rotting on the shore,
Yea, piled in putrid heaps and wan
Where they were slain of yore.
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I knew them by their gleaming eyes,
Still faithfully the same,
And similar yearning looks that rise,
And similar bright flame
Of valour and of enterprise,
That death had failed to tame.
Still faithfully the same,
And similar yearning looks that rise,
And similar bright flame
Of valour and of enterprise,
That death had failed to tame.
The Spirit of Beauty sang to me
About their various fate,
The solemn secret of the sea
Rang thro' her chant sedate,
I saw that only Purity
Doth ope the heavenly gate.
About their various fate,
The solemn secret of the sea
Rang thro' her chant sedate,
I saw that only Purity
Doth ope the heavenly gate.
That only Purity can show
The secrets of all time,
And God's face in a tender glow,
Or awful and sublime
With secrets He alone doth know,
The history of each clime.
The secrets of all time,
And God's face in a tender glow,
Or awful and sublime
With secrets He alone doth know,
The history of each clime.
The Spirit of Beauty sang to me;
I listened to her voice,
As to the wind in a tall oak-tree
Bidding the boughs rejoice,
As to the accents maidenly
Of one who makes her choice;
I listened to her voice,
As to the wind in a tall oak-tree
Bidding the boughs rejoice,
As to the accents maidenly
Of one who makes her choice;
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Her final choice that shall not swerve
For torture, or for death,
For sorrow, or for sundered nerve,
Or what an enemy saith,
Following her love thro' crook and curve
With worshipful fair breath.
For torture, or for death,
For sorrow, or for sundered nerve,
Or what an enemy saith,
Following her love thro' crook and curve
With worshipful fair breath.
The Spirit of Beauty sang to me
As some such maiden's tone,
Or as the whisper of the sea
Towards quiet lovers blown,
Seeming with broad-extended glee
To sanctify their own.
As some such maiden's tone,
Or as the whisper of the sea
Towards quiet lovers blown,
Seeming with broad-extended glee
To sanctify their own.
As the sweet power of these sweet things
Sang Beauty to my soul,
Even now her dulcet whisper clings
About me—thro' my whole
Enamoured silent heart it rings,
As then my heart it stole.
Sang Beauty to my soul,
Even now her dulcet whisper clings
About me—thro' my whole
Enamoured silent heart it rings,
As then my heart it stole.
Even as whenever music sounds,
Tho' it was years ago,
My blood leaps up and throbs and bounds
As once it used to flow
At Love's voice—Love's, that smites and wounds
With many a honeyed blow.
Tho' it was years ago,
My blood leaps up and throbs and bounds
As once it used to flow
At Love's voice—Love's, that smites and wounds
With many a honeyed blow.
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So, at the memory of the song
That Beauty sang to me,
I rise up, renovated, strong
As some fair sapful tree
That hurls its limbs for boughs along,
Erect, and fearlessly.
That Beauty sang to me,
I rise up, renovated, strong
As some fair sapful tree
That hurls its limbs for boughs along,
Erect, and fearlessly.
I know that, tho' the windy years
Make havoc of things frail,
And joys are followed fast by fears
Flying with faster sail,
There comes a time when clouds and tears
Shall have no more avail.
Make havoc of things frail,
And joys are followed fast by fears
Flying with faster sail,
There comes a time when clouds and tears
Shall have no more avail.
For so the Spirit of Beauty sang,
Sounding from rock and tree,
Such was the prophecy that rang
With dulcet voice on me,
Re-echoing from cliffs that hang
Above the echoing sea.
Sounding from rock and tree,
Such was the prophecy that rang
With dulcet voice on me,
Re-echoing from cliffs that hang
Above the echoing sea.
The Spirit of Beauty gave me hope,
Renewing fair desire;
For me one day shall sweetly ope
Those purple gates brought nigher,
Towards which, as towards a palace-cope,
I struggle and aspire.
Renewing fair desire;
For me one day shall sweetly ope
Those purple gates brought nigher,
Towards which, as towards a palace-cope,
I struggle and aspire.
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The purple gates that lead to life
Endless, ecstatic, free,—
This shall I enter when death's knife
Is gracious unto me,
Sweet purple gates with voices rife,
As limes with many a bee,
Endless, ecstatic, free,—
This shall I enter when death's knife
Is gracious unto me,
Sweet purple gates with voices rife,
As limes with many a bee,
With many a bee in summer—so,
Fair watchers at those gates
Bring tender yearning hearts that glow
With pity, and hope that mates
Their pity—weeping for our woe,
Weeping till this abates.
Fair watchers at those gates
Bring tender yearning hearts that glow
With pity, and hope that mates
Their pity—weeping for our woe,
Weeping till this abates.
The Spirit of Beauty sang to me,
I but repeat her song,
Mixed with the murmur of the sea,
And waters rolled along,
And noise of many a murmuring tree,
And rocks, an echoing throng.
I but repeat her song,
Mixed with the murmur of the sea,
And waters rolled along,
And noise of many a murmuring tree,
And rocks, an echoing throng.
It was as if the mingled voice
Of many a sweet-voiced maid
Then sounded, bidding earth rejoice,
And flowers in every glade
Spring forth to gladden each one's choice,
In sunshine or in shade.
Of many a sweet-voiced maid
Then sounded, bidding earth rejoice,
And flowers in every glade
Spring forth to gladden each one's choice,
In sunshine or in shade.
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I saw the dead begin to move,
I saw their forms awake
On mount, in forest, and in grove,
By many a silent lake,
Their faces all did shine with love
So that I did not quake.
I saw their forms awake
On mount, in forest, and in grove,
By many a silent lake,
Their faces all did shine with love
So that I did not quake.
Their faces all were sweet to me,
I recognized my friends,
Some slain in war, some drowned at sea,
Or dying as mostly ends
Frail man; from under many a tree,
Whose ghostly arch extends
I recognized my friends,
Some slain in war, some drowned at sea,
Or dying as mostly ends
Frail man; from under many a tree,
Whose ghostly arch extends
Above their tombs, they rustled forth,
But I was not afraid
Even tho' an ice-blast from the north
Their ice-cold garb conveyed—
I knew these souls were souls of worth,
I should not be betrayed.
But I was not afraid
Even tho' an ice-blast from the north
Their ice-cold garb conveyed—
I knew these souls were souls of worth,
I should not be betrayed.
Then many more came climbing up,
Faces I did not know,
Some whose cold limbs were sent to sup
On ice-fields and on snow,
Others who perished by the rope,
Or by the red fire's glow.
Faces I did not know,
Some whose cold limbs were sent to sup
On ice-fields and on snow,
Others who perished by the rope,
Or by the red fire's glow.
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All were alike, for all were glad;
They pointed to the lyre
Of Beauty, and not one was sad;
One similar desire
Pervaded them, one hope they had,
With one mind they aspire,
They pointed to the lyre
Of Beauty, and not one was sad;
One similar desire
Pervaded them, one hope they had,
With one mind they aspire,
Desiring to be strings upon
The harp which Beauty plays;
If over one her white hand shone,
Sweeping in subtle ways
His flowing chords, all pain was gone,
And nought was left but praise.
The harp which Beauty plays;
If over one her white hand shone,
Sweeping in subtle ways
His flowing chords, all pain was gone,
And nought was left but praise.
The Spirit of Beauty sang to me,
And all these souls did shake
With love, like leaves upon a tree,
Or rushes in a brake,
Or the scales that quiver violently
Upon a shining snake.
And all these souls did shake
With love, like leaves upon a tree,
Or rushes in a brake,
Or the scales that quiver violently
Upon a shining snake.
With love they all did tremble; she
Swept hand across the chords:
Ah! had she done that thing to me,
Though fingers were as swords,
For joy I'd perished silently,
Not even with loving words.
Swept hand across the chords:
Ah! had she done that thing to me,
Though fingers were as swords,
For joy I'd perished silently,
Not even with loving words.
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Even as a lover, overmuch
Enamoured of his queen,
Awaiteth not her lovely touch
And all her bosom's sheen,
But dieth gazing—even such
Had been my fate, I ween,
Enamoured of his queen,
Awaiteth not her lovely touch
And all her bosom's sheen,
But dieth gazing—even such
Had been my fate, I ween,
Had Beauty further smiled on me,
And given me gifts to hold,
Some rose or lily perhaps that she
Round her bright brow did fold,
Some jewel loosened carelessly,
Or trinket wrought of gold.
And given me gifts to hold,
Some rose or lily perhaps that she
Round her bright brow did fold,
Some jewel loosened carelessly,
Or trinket wrought of gold.
But, in that Beauty's song was mine,
She shall herself become,
With bosom smelling of eglantine,
And lips of sweet rose-bloom,
And hands round which white lilies twine,
Beyond the advancing tomb,
She shall herself become,
With bosom smelling of eglantine,
And lips of sweet rose-bloom,
And hands round which white lilies twine,
Beyond the advancing tomb,
Mine wholly: yea, no more in part,
But wholly; more than we
With straining, feeble, earthly heart
Can yet attain to see,
Beyond the power of poet's art
Is Love as it shall be.
But wholly; more than we
With straining, feeble, earthly heart
Can yet attain to see,
Beyond the power of poet's art
Is Love as it shall be.
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The Spirit of Beauty ends her song,
But something better still
She has given me; hope ecstatic, strong,
That, doing her sweet will,
I shall not tarry over-long
Before kind love shall kill
But something better still
She has given me; hope ecstatic, strong,
That, doing her sweet will,
I shall not tarry over-long
Before kind love shall kill
My body, and bring my spirit near
To one that never yet,
Through seasons cloudy, seasons clear,
Since first our long gaze met,
Have I ceased sweetly to revere,
And sadly to regret.
To one that never yet,
Through seasons cloudy, seasons clear,
Since first our long gaze met,
Have I ceased sweetly to revere,
And sadly to regret.
| Under the dawn | |