 | Under the dawn |  |
v
DEDICATION.
I leave the starry night behind,
And stand upon the gleaming hills
Of sunrise, and the future thrills
My spirit,—which was dead and blind
With frost and apathy that kills,
And hopelessness; I mark mankind
Proceeding towards a kinglier mind.
And stand upon the gleaming hills
Of sunrise, and the future thrills
My spirit,—which was dead and blind
With frost and apathy that kills,
And hopelessness; I mark mankind
Proceeding towards a kinglier mind.
As one before me sang of stars,
And twilight, and the early day,
And hope the bigots' sword-hilt mars,
So would I, further on Time's way,
Emerging from the tender grey
Of early morning, and the scars
Of early battle, mark the bars
And twilight, and the early day,
And hope the bigots' sword-hilt mars,
So would I, further on Time's way,
Emerging from the tender grey
Of early morning, and the scars
Of early battle, mark the bars
vi
Of happy crimson in the East—
Religions of the world do wane
Like lights upon a window-pane
When the rich sacramental feast
Is over, and the priestly train
Has vanished; when their songs have ceased,
And sober daylight has increased.
Religions of the world do wane
Like lights upon a window-pane
When the rich sacramental feast
Is over, and the priestly train
Has vanished; when their songs have ceased,
And sober daylight has increased.
Religions of the world do wane—
But yet the hope of man is high,
And underneath the crimson sky
Of morning, he awakes a strain
The sweeter in that dawn is nigh,
Bringing the close of many a pain,
And many a golden joy to gain.
But yet the hope of man is high,
And underneath the crimson sky
Of morning, he awakes a strain
The sweeter in that dawn is nigh,
Bringing the close of many a pain,
And many a golden joy to gain.
As summer slides from flower to flower,
From gracious lily unto rose,
From violet unto fervent bower
Of honeysuckle at the close
Of summer, when the winds repose,
And all is silent for an hour,
Till autumn wakes with breezy power;—
From gracious lily unto rose,
From violet unto fervent bower
Of honeysuckle at the close
Of summer, when the winds repose,
And all is silent for an hour,
Till autumn wakes with breezy power;—
vii
As summer slips from bloom to bloom,
And spring from sweet bird's song to song,
And winter's ice-encircled tomb
Is but the circlet of a throng
Of voices that shall shout ere long,
And blossoms that shall burst the gloom,
Eager spring's brilliance to resume;—
And spring from sweet bird's song to song,
And winter's ice-encircled tomb
Is but the circlet of a throng
Of voices that shall shout ere long,
And blossoms that shall burst the gloom,
Eager spring's brilliance to resume;—
So man's hope changes; but the same
Rich life in other forms doth blow,
As many buds do rend the snow
With various shafts of coloured flame,
But each some flowery hope doth show,
And some resplendent, scented aim—
In such a guise religion came
Rich life in other forms doth blow,
As many buds do rend the snow
With various shafts of coloured flame,
But each some flowery hope doth show,
And some resplendent, scented aim—
In such a guise religion came
Upon the earth; the rose of Greece
Is over, and the lily pure
Of Christendom shall not endure,
But this too hath a time to cease—
A fragrant burial to secure,
A rapt and exquisite release,
The ages' sempiternal peace!
Is over, and the lily pure
Of Christendom shall not endure,
But this too hath a time to cease—
A fragrant burial to secure,
A rapt and exquisite release,
The ages' sempiternal peace!
viii
The peace of past religions waits
For Christianity as well,
Behold, a new flower at the gates,
A fresh truth to proclaim and tell;
Behold, with tears the red rose fell
That bloomed above the Grecian States;
The lily falls: thro' loves and hates,
For Christianity as well,
Behold, a new flower at the gates,
A fresh truth to proclaim and tell;
Behold, with tears the red rose fell
That bloomed above the Grecian States;
The lily falls: thro' loves and hates,
And troubles outward and within,
We pass to meet the future—we,
On whom the shadow dark has been
Of faiths we had not strength to flee:
Our white rose, of a certainty,
To those fallen blossoms next of kin,
The future for her own shall win.
We pass to meet the future—we,
On whom the shadow dark has been
Of faiths we had not strength to flee:
Our white rose, of a certainty,
To those fallen blossoms next of kin,
The future for her own shall win.
The intense spirit of Greece is ours,
And all the Hebrew, pure desire;
Our sons with Hebrew holy fire,
Our maids with fragrant passion-flowers,
We crown—our poets bear a lyre
That sings a song of various hours;
Their hands are sweet from varied bowers.
And all the Hebrew, pure desire;
Our sons with Hebrew holy fire,
Our maids with fragrant passion-flowers,
We crown—our poets bear a lyre
That sings a song of various hours;
Their hands are sweet from varied bowers.
ix
The intense heart of Greece unites,
In this the morning of the world,
With aspirations first unfurled
On austere Sinaitic heights
When awful wreaths of mist were whirled
About the brow of Moses: flights
Of fancy, raptures, pains, delights,
In this the morning of the world,
With aspirations first unfurled
On austere Sinaitic heights
When awful wreaths of mist were whirled
About the brow of Moses: flights
Of fancy, raptures, pains, delights,
Of all the ages, sweep their stores
Into the future's ample arms,
Strange shells from Asiatic shores,
Greek sculpture, Scandinavian charms,
All, all, we gather; nought alarms
Our eager venture; at our doors
The past her various treasure pours.
Into the future's ample arms,
Strange shells from Asiatic shores,
Greek sculpture, Scandinavian charms,
All, all, we gather; nought alarms
Our eager venture; at our doors
The past her various treasure pours.
And these songs of the morning I
Would dedicate, my sweet, to thee,
Though thou didst, like a woman, fly
The future's cold austerity,
Eager to test the crowns that be
Behind, desiring to ally
Thy spirit to the starlit sky.
Would dedicate, my sweet, to thee,
Though thou didst, like a woman, fly
The future's cold austerity,
Eager to test the crowns that be
Behind, desiring to ally
Thy spirit to the starlit sky.
x
Thou hadst not strength to search the cold
And unpropitious future seas;
Yea, thou didst dread the early breeze
Of morning, and thy lips were bold
Among the pleasaunces of trees
Behind, and palaces of gold
Behind, and temples tall and old.
And unpropitious future seas;
Yea, thou didst dread the early breeze
Of morning, and thy lips were bold
Among the pleasaunces of trees
Behind, and palaces of gold
Behind, and temples tall and old.
The future thou didst quite despise;
It turns a deaf ear unto thee
Therefore; thou shalt not, surely, see
With mortal, wonder-smitten eyes
The vision of the morn that we
With rapt desire and rich surmise
Mark in the sunlight-stricken skies.
It turns a deaf ear unto thee
Therefore; thou shalt not, surely, see
With mortal, wonder-smitten eyes
The vision of the morn that we
With rapt desire and rich surmise
Mark in the sunlight-stricken skies.
Rest in the mountains far behind,
Among the temples that shall fall,
While we partake the lovely wind
Of morning, that doth soothe us all;
Yet unto thee my songs shall crawl
As humble worshippers, and find,
It may be, some reception kind.
Among the temples that shall fall,
While we partake the lovely wind
Of morning, that doth soothe us all;
Yet unto thee my songs shall crawl
As humble worshippers, and find,
It may be, some reception kind.
xi
It may be that thyself shalt own,
When age doth bring a clearer view
Of truth, that Love's most dainty tone
Was in the singer of the new,
When, his harp's restless cordage thro'
The keen-edged wind of morn was blown,
And fresh sounds and fresh sights were shown.
When age doth bring a clearer view
Of truth, that Love's most dainty tone
Was in the singer of the new,
When, his harp's restless cordage thro'
The keen-edged wind of morn was blown,
And fresh sounds and fresh sights were shown.
Few women have the strength to seek
The truth thro' trouble unto death;
But soft winds woo their fragrant breath,
And roses suit their rose-soft cheek,
And each word that the soft mouth saith,
A thousand lovers mark; they speak
No truths from austere mountain-peak.
The truth thro' trouble unto death;
But soft winds woo their fragrant breath,
And roses suit their rose-soft cheek,
And each word that the soft mouth saith,
A thousand lovers mark; they speak
No truths from austere mountain-peak.
The softest gardens are their own,
The softest brilliance of a lawn
In summer, not the cold grey dawn
And ocean's distant, half-heard tone,
When faint explorers' feet are drawn
Towards some far distant waste unknown,
And winds are from that desert blown
The softest brilliance of a lawn
In summer, not the cold grey dawn
And ocean's distant, half-heard tone,
When faint explorers' feet are drawn
Towards some far distant waste unknown,
And winds are from that desert blown
xii
Towards their approach; to thee I leave
The so-called happiness of life,
And these songs, sung where warriors grieve
And women mix not in their strife,
I send from struggling poet's fife
Towards that glad garden thou didst weave
For thine own pleasure—I achieve
The so-called happiness of life,
And these songs, sung where warriors grieve
And women mix not in their strife,
I send from struggling poet's fife
Towards that glad garden thou didst weave
For thine own pleasure—I achieve
No great things; I have lost my song,
For, Alice, I have failed of thee,
And, therefore, I have lost the throng
Of fancies that I used to see
Around, within, beside of me,
And growing sadness does me wrong,
Tho' once for thee my lyre was strong.
For, Alice, I have failed of thee,
And, therefore, I have lost the throng
Of fancies that I used to see
Around, within, beside of me,
And growing sadness does me wrong,
Tho' once for thee my lyre was strong.
But what I can do, this I do,
And what I can say, this I sing,
And what I may weave, that I bring;—
The morning is in pleasant view,
And to that bright dawn's skirts I cling,
Hating the past, but with a true
Love, loving the delicious new.
And what I can say, this I sing,
And what I may weave, that I bring;—
The morning is in pleasant view,
And to that bright dawn's skirts I cling,
Hating the past, but with a true
Love, loving the delicious new.
xiii
As one before me sang of clouds,
And daybreak, and the hopeless hope
That in the creed he chanteth shrouds
Its form, so would I seek to ope
The gateways of a hopeful hope,
And unto thee, delicious Alice,
I bring the outskirts of Time's palace.
And daybreak, and the hopeless hope
That in the creed he chanteth shrouds
Its form, so would I seek to ope
The gateways of a hopeful hope,
And unto thee, delicious Alice,
I bring the outskirts of Time's palace.
July 15, 1873.
| Under the dawn | |