The collected poems of Arthur Edward Waite in two volumes ... With a Portrait |
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THE HAUNTED DIAL |
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 | The collected poems of Arthur Edward Waite |  |
126
THE HAUNTED DIAL
What canst thou tell me, O dial!
Of the days which have been and are,
A mystic procession on-flowing,
As star from the East follows star?
I have come through the past from afar,
Yet the vistas stretch solemn and straight;
Can the mind forecall, at the term of all
What things may befall and wait?
Of the days which have been and are,
A mystic procession on-flowing,
As star from the East follows star?
I have come through the past from afar,
Yet the vistas stretch solemn and straight;
Can the mind forecall, at the term of all
What things may befall and wait?
O ever as heaven moves round thee,
Thy slow shade forward steals!
It tells of the days and their sequence
But nought of their source reveals,
Nor yet what their end conceals;
Before, behind thee a blank unseen,
At a pageant of days, in a mystic haze,
Thou dost stand and gaze, between.
Thy slow shade forward steals!
It tells of the days and their sequence
But nought of their source reveals,
Nor yet what their end conceals;
Before, behind thee a blank unseen,
At a pageant of days, in a mystic haze,
Thou dost stand and gaze, between.
Therefore thou art as our symbol,
As if in man's image art thou;
For looking before and after,
We know not of whence nor how,
Nor whither our trending now;
But the space between, with its groves and flowers,
But the gloom and glance of the time's advance,
These are thine with their chance, and ours.
As if in man's image art thou;
For looking before and after,
We know not of whence nor how,
Nor whither our trending now;
But the space between, with its groves and flowers,
But the gloom and glance of the time's advance,
These are thine with their chance, and ours.
Here then in the copse and woodland
And here in the glade, besprent
With a glory of scarlet tulips,
I take thy sacrament;
For I see, with a heart content,
That the signs decreed by the common mind,
Which are none to me, are renounced by thee
For the deeps we see behind.
And here in the glade, besprent
With a glory of scarlet tulips,
I take thy sacrament;
For I see, with a heart content,
That the signs decreed by the common mind,
Which are none to me, are renounced by thee
For the deeps we see behind.
127
Thou art not, as some think vainly,
The type of a wing's swift rush,
The sweep of a flood-tide passing,
The vortex and the crush,
But the solemn throb and the hush
Of the great durations which ne'er diminish,
And for evermore are behind, before,
And will not pass o'er, nor finish.
The type of a wing's swift rush,
The sweep of a flood-tide passing,
The vortex and the crush,
But the solemn throb and the hush
Of the great durations which ne'er diminish,
And for evermore are behind, before,
And will not pass o'er, nor finish.
What then is some cloud of a moment
Which hides thy ghostly hand?
The bringer of rain in summer
To a thirsty and panting land;
Herald at most of the storm and grand
Ravage of battle on plain and hill;
Yet brief is the space ere a moon's bright face
Shall the height and the base make still!
Which hides thy ghostly hand?
The bringer of rain in summer
To a thirsty and panting land;
Herald at most of the storm and grand
Ravage of battle on plain and hill;
Yet brief is the space ere a moon's bright face
Shall the height and the base make still!
Say what dost thou write in the darkness?
Of star or moon record?
The light of all brightness only
Writes on thy mystic board!
Pass, Light withdrawn and restored!
Yet may the infinite, perfect beam,
Intransitory, adorn thy story
With more than glory of dream!
Of star or moon record?
The light of all brightness only
Writes on thy mystic board!
Pass, Light withdrawn and restored!
Yet may the infinite, perfect beam,
Intransitory, adorn thy story
With more than glory of dream!
Ah, spell me thy hauntings ever!
Haunted by light thou art,
And time with its changes noting
Dost stand from both apart;
Like the inmost human heart,
One truth confessing 'midst all that shews,
The depth and height of the splendour bright,
When the light of all light o'erflows.
Haunted by light thou art,
And time with its changes noting
Dost stand from both apart;
Like the inmost human heart,
One truth confessing 'midst all that shews,
The depth and height of the splendour bright,
When the light of all light o'erflows.
128
From home eternal to home eternal,
High soul of man impell'd,
Fling too thine ancient watchwords,
In spite of the light withheld!
Walker in shadows of eld,
Searcher of God by the ways unknown,
The storm and cloud to withstand endow'd,
Unto light being vow'd alone!
High soul of man impell'd,
Fling too thine ancient watchwords,
In spite of the light withheld!
Walker in shadows of eld,
Searcher of God by the ways unknown,
The storm and cloud to withstand endow'd,
Unto light being vow'd alone!
O secret of light supernal!
O Dial of God's great sun!
What unto thee shall be darkness,
When darkness is over and done?
I seize—as the soft hours run—
A hint of the haunting of souls, involved
Where the light rays beat, and the centres meet,
In the great white heat dissolved.
O Dial of God's great sun!
What unto thee shall be darkness,
When darkness is over and done?
I seize—as the soft hours run—
A hint of the haunting of souls, involved
Where the light rays beat, and the centres meet,
In the great white heat dissolved.
| The collected poems of Arthur Edward Waite | |