 | Through the Gateway |  |
1
THROUGH THE GATEWAY.
The world was the world of every day,
The light was the sunlight shining,
When I found myself in a field astray
In a summer day's declining.
The light was the sunlight shining,
When I found myself in a field astray
In a summer day's declining.
The air was full of the sound of bees,
And the scent of the summer clover;
The blackbird sang in the darkening trees,
And the lark in the clear heaven over.
And the scent of the summer clover;
The blackbird sang in the darkening trees,
And the lark in the clear heaven over.
Methought I had known that field of old;
But lo, to my eyes' surprising,
A gateway of stone stood stern and lone,
In the middle field uprising.
But lo, to my eyes' surprising,
A gateway of stone stood stern and lone,
In the middle field uprising.
And over the gate were letters, that said:
Non nisi per me via.
And a wonder it seemed where the doorway led,
And the legend seemed a liar.
Non nisi per me via.
And a wonder it seemed where the doorway led,
And the legend seemed a liar.
2
For 'twas but a step by the buttressed pier
To right or to left, and surely
I was there on the other side quite clear,
With the gate still shut securely.
To right or to left, and surely
I was there on the other side quite clear,
With the gate still shut securely.
But something—perhaps the even calm,
Or the sunset's invitation,
Or a summons heard in the blackbird's psalm,
Or an idle inclination—
Or the sunset's invitation,
Or a summons heard in the blackbird's psalm,
Or an idle inclination—
Re-flected my wayward will; I returned
To the written side of the gateway;
The iron ring-handle I raised and turned,
And the strong door opened straightway.
To the written side of the gateway;
The iron ring-handle I raised and turned,
And the strong door opened straightway.
All was olden and all was new;
The same world lay before me,
But angels were filling the flowers with dew,
And lighting the gold stars o'er me.
The same world lay before me,
But angels were filling the flowers with dew,
And lighting the gold stars o'er me.
Nor only my eyes were opened; I knew
As in words what the birds were chiming,
And the very scent of the wild rose meant
More than a poet's rhyming.
As in words what the birds were chiming,
And the very scent of the wild rose meant
More than a poet's rhyming.
3
And all delight was mine, for I felt
What the young leaf feels in bursting,
What the meadow-grass when the long snows melt,
What the flower for the sunlight thirsting.
What the young leaf feels in bursting,
What the meadow-grass when the long snows melt,
What the flower for the sunlight thirsting.
The hope of joy is earth's best joy;
But now I could clasp and clutch it;
The song of the bird no unrest stirred,
And the rainbow let me touch it.
But now I could clasp and clutch it;
The song of the bird no unrest stirred,
And the rainbow let me touch it.
And suddenly, by that inward sense
That leaps past laggard Reason,
And asks not how or why or whence,
I knew that for that season
That leaps past laggard Reason,
And asks not how or why or whence,
I knew that for that season
God's mercy had softened so my heart,
As Pharaoh's He did harden,
That all the earth was every part
For me as Eden garden.
As Pharaoh's He did harden,
That all the earth was every part
For me as Eden garden.
My soul, that had clothed herself about
Since knowledge of shame awakèd
In pride, and every prudish clout,
Stood unashamed and naked.
Since knowledge of shame awakèd
In pride, and every prudish clout,
Stood unashamed and naked.
4
And never a sin nor a thought of sin
Was on my soul remaining,
Nor fear of a fettered lust within,
Nor memory of complaining.
Was on my soul remaining,
Nor fear of a fettered lust within,
Nor memory of complaining.
Round me the living creatures were;
No greater I than others,
Beast of the field or bird of the air;
Yea, the flower and I were brothers.
No greater I than others,
Beast of the field or bird of the air;
Yea, the flower and I were brothers.
The pride of Man was purged from me,
The Self from my eyes had vanished;
I saw the world from the Man-God free
Who the Maker-God has banished.
The Self from my eyes had vanished;
I saw the world from the Man-God free
Who the Maker-God has banished.
I bowed my head, for I heard a tread
That made the ground seem holy;
It was the Lord God walking there,
And I worshipped, mute and lowly.
That made the ground seem holy;
It was the Lord God walking there,
And I worshipped, mute and lowly.
The flowers knew Him, and all the birds
And all the beasts before me;
And a thought too swift for the wings of words,
Too sweet for the tongue, came o'er me:
And all the beasts before me;
And a thought too swift for the wings of words,
Too sweet for the tongue, came o'er me:
5
That footfall, yes, I have heard it oft,
That voice in my ears has sounded;
And I knew it not, nor why the soft
Young flowers stood all astounded.
That voice in my ears has sounded;
And I knew it not, nor why the soft
Young flowers stood all astounded.
And as I bowed by the bending flowers,
Methought there came a calling,
Melodious as the hushing showers
Through leaves in woodlands falling.
Methought there came a calling,
Melodious as the hushing showers
Through leaves in woodlands falling.
Was it a sound in the air, or a voice
In mine ears only ringing?
I know not: I knew on a sudden I grew
Blind to the blackbird's singing.
In mine ears only ringing?
I know not: I knew on a sudden I grew
Blind to the blackbird's singing.
‘Earth is the Lord's. 'Tis ancient sooth.
The whole creation crieth
Morning and night the master truth,
That only one denieth.
The whole creation crieth
Morning and night the master truth,
That only one denieth.
‘For nothing is blind of living kind
Save Man of the dull clay kneaden,
Who has driven God from His own good world
As God drave him from Eden.
Save Man of the dull clay kneaden,
Who has driven God from His own good world
As God drave him from Eden.
6
‘And in fear and pride he has magnified
A God of his own devising,
The Law of Man and the Love of Man
As Deity idolizing.
A God of his own devising,
The Law of Man and the Love of Man
As Deity idolizing.
‘No more he maketh him gods of stone,
The likeness of man or woman;
But of dreams and phrases he shapeth one
As helpless and as human.
The likeness of man or woman;
But of dreams and phrases he shapeth one
As helpless and as human.
‘Therefore, because his eyes are filled
With the human deification,
And himself he deems the crown, and his dreams
The hope, of all creation;
With the human deification,
And himself he deems the crown, and his dreams
The hope, of all creation;
‘No more he watcheth as men of old,
Clear-eyed and humble-hearted,
For the sudden rapture, the gleam of gold,
The glory not departed,
Clear-eyed and humble-hearted,
For the sudden rapture, the gleam of gold,
The glory not departed,
‘Sound in the forest, light on the sea,
The ever-vanishing vision,
The mirror-kiss of a world not this
On the water-face of division.
The ever-vanishing vision,
The mirror-kiss of a world not this
On the water-face of division.
7
‘But he houses himself in a hostel of pride,
Of self-love he makes his clothing;
Man only matters; the world beside
Of life and beauty is nothing.
Of self-love he makes his clothing;
Man only matters; the world beside
Of life and beauty is nothing.
‘Nothing the morning glory of trees,
Or hills in sunlight sleeping,
Or the rose-leaf pilot on purple seas,
Or lace-white torrents leaping.
Or hills in sunlight sleeping,
Or the rose-leaf pilot on purple seas,
Or lace-white torrents leaping.
‘The rainbow itself, if he see it not,
For all its wonder is wasted,
And the flowers unmeet for his garden-plot,
And the fruits he hath not tasted.
For all its wonder is wasted,
And the flowers unmeet for his garden-plot,
And the fruits he hath not tasted.
‘And the striped veldt-rangers and forest things,
They are bright in vain if he spare them,
And the jewel-fly, and the gem-bird's wings,
Unless he slay them and wear them.
They are bright in vain if he spare them,
And the jewel-fly, and the gem-bird's wings,
Unless he slay them and wear them.
‘How should he see what the flowers see
That lift clear eyes to heaven?
How should he heed if God indeed
Walk in the wind of even?
That lift clear eyes to heaven?
How should he heed if God indeed
Walk in the wind of even?
‘Though flowers are a carpet for unseen feet,
Birds sing an unknown psalter,
Though every wood is a temple good.
And every hill an altar;
Birds sing an unknown psalter,
Though every wood is a temple good.
And every hill an altar;
8
‘Man only goeth a godless way
In his dark and smoky babels,
Or builds him prisons wherein to pray,
And serves not God but tables.’
In his dark and smoky babels,
Or builds him prisons wherein to pray,
And serves not God but tables.’
The sudden silence fell like snow;
And I thought, with a heart nigh breaking,
I only am left, I only!—and lo,
Again I heard Him speaking:
And I thought, with a heart nigh breaking,
I only am left, I only!—and lo,
Again I heard Him speaking:
‘Yet have I left me lonely ones,
Wherever the green herb springeth,
Who look to God as the flower from the sod,
And serve as the bird that singeth.’
Wherever the green herb springeth,
Who look to God as the flower from the sod,
And serve as the bird that singeth.’
O humble hearts! O wistful eyes!
O souls in prison sighing!
Who find the wisdom of man unwise,
And his sooth unsatisfying!
O souls in prison sighing!
Who find the wisdom of man unwise,
And his sooth unsatisfying!
For you I have written; no laboured scheme
Of life and dust and duty;
But the master dream of a life of dream,
And the faith of a flower's beauty.
Of life and dust and duty;
But the master dream of a life of dream,
And the faith of a flower's beauty.
9
DAWN AMONG THE ALPS.
So softly, twice ten myriad morns ago,
The golden-footed Angel of the Day
Lighted on yon o'ertopping towers of snow;
So darkling all the ice-world under lay.
The golden-footed Angel of the Day
Lighted on yon o'ertopping towers of snow;
So darkling all the ice-world under lay.
And on the green knees of those rocky scars,
Ages ere man arose to mark the hours,
The dawn descending kissed awake blue stars
Of gentians, and all tender Alpine flowers.
Ages ere man arose to mark the hours,
The dawn descending kissed awake blue stars
Of gentians, and all tender Alpine flowers.
I, now, one moment in the vast of Time,
With eyes divinely hungered gazing there,
By earthly stairways into Heaven climb,
And pass the gates of Eden unaware.
With eyes divinely hungered gazing there,
By earthly stairways into Heaven climb,
And pass the gates of Eden unaware.
I look, I love, I worship; yet mine eyes
Are held from their desire. I cannot see
What every floweret in its place descries,
Or worship as they worship, conscience-free.
Are held from their desire. I cannot see
What every floweret in its place descries,
Or worship as they worship, conscience-free.
Man is so large before the eyes of man,
He cannot think of Earth but as his own;
All his philosophies have guessed no plan
That leaves him not the lordship and the throne.
He cannot think of Earth but as his own;
All his philosophies have guessed no plan
That leaves him not the lordship and the throne.
10
He is so blind, he cannot see the glory
Of gods hill-haunting, haters of the street;
He hath no ears but for the human story,
Though lives more lovely blossom round his feet.
Of gods hill-haunting, haters of the street;
He hath no ears but for the human story,
Though lives more lovely blossom round his feet.
Hath he considered what a jewel-girth
Of beauty, every hurrying human day,
Doth like a Venus-girdle ring the earth?
For man's eyes only, where's the fool will say?
Of beauty, every hurrying human day,
Doth like a Venus-girdle ring the earth?
For man's eyes only, where's the fool will say?
What flower-life spares he where he digs for gold?
What hill-side leaves he from his steelroad free?
His gaze some apish mimicry will hold
From all the pageantries of cloud and sea.
What hill-side leaves he from his steelroad free?
His gaze some apish mimicry will hold
From all the pageantries of cloud and sea.
Nay, there are eyes, I know not whose, not man's,
For whom the world is fair; some worthier love
Than poets' worship all earth's wonder scans.
We gather crumbs, the feast is far above.
For whom the world is fair; some worthier love
Than poets' worship all earth's wonder scans.
We gather crumbs, the feast is far above.
11
Those shadow-pencilled valleys while I view,
Those snow-domes 'neath the hyacinthine skies,
A Presence is beside me, gazing too,
With richer love than mine, and holier eyes.
Those snow-domes 'neath the hyacinthine skies,
A Presence is beside me, gazing too,
With richer love than mine, and holier eyes.
Or when amid the flowers I kneel, and dream
O'er starry morsels of heaven's sapphire floor,
A larger happiness than mine doth seem
To dote there too, and make my gladness more.
O'er starry morsels of heaven's sapphire floor,
A larger happiness than mine doth seem
To dote there too, and make my gladness more.
Thou whom I know not, when mine eyes delight
In this Thy world, oh, let my spirit be
From self-love loosed and purified of sight,
To love what Thou dost love, at one with Thee!
In this Thy world, oh, let my spirit be
From self-love loosed and purified of sight,
To love what Thou dost love, at one with Thee!
12
A MEMORY OF MONT BLANC.
Neath the sapphire-vaulted skies,
Silver thrones unnumbered rise;
Each a golden sceptre-sword
From the sun, great over-lord,
Takes at dawn, at eve returns;
And the star of morning burns
Like a jewel on the breast,
Honouring the mightiest.
Silver thrones unnumbered rise;
Each a golden sceptre-sword
From the sun, great over-lord,
Takes at dawn, at eve returns;
And the star of morning burns
Like a jewel on the breast,
Honouring the mightiest.
Oh, that not with usèd eyes,
Blind with human sympathies,
But with a soul-vision clear
As the mirror-surfaced mere,
I might see this sight of glory,
Touched not with the human story,
Feeling for one life-long hour,
All the peace and all the power!
Blind with human sympathies,
But with a soul-vision clear
As the mirror-surfaced mere,
I might see this sight of glory,
Touched not with the human story,
Feeling for one life-long hour,
All the peace and all the power!
Why should Man, himself a part
Of this wonder-world, in heart,
Ever separate his kind
From his kindred, and be blind—
With the Self-infusing stain
Of the keen, alchemic brain—
To the things that flowers see,
And the lives of less degree?
Of this wonder-world, in heart,
Ever separate his kind
From his kindred, and be blind—
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Of the keen, alchemic brain—
To the things that flowers see,
And the lives of less degree?
Ah, for but one hour to lie
Like this flower beneath the sky!
Feel the heart-beat of All-Things
Pulsing through my own life-springs,
Till the ‘I’ no more intrude,
Melted in the magnitude;
And the sole self that I feel
Countless worlds in commonweal!
Like this flower beneath the sky!
Feel the heart-beat of All-Things
Pulsing through my own life-springs,
Till the ‘I’ no more intrude,
Melted in the magnitude;
And the sole self that I feel
Countless worlds in commonweal!
14
THE POET'S DREAM.
Fair-fortuned ship,
Whose white sails fade and dip
Below the sea-line where our sight must stay;
With hope how fond
We yearn for the Beyond,
Where thou art sailing as in common day!
Whose white sails fade and dip
Below the sea-line where our sight must stay;
With hope how fond
We yearn for the Beyond,
Where thou art sailing as in common day!
Yet know'st thou not
Thine all-desired lot,
To pass the prison-barriers of our eyes,
And sail serene
The world no eye hath seen,
The unknown Heaven to which Creation sighs.
Thine all-desired lot,
To pass the prison-barriers of our eyes,
And sail serene
The world no eye hath seen,
The unknown Heaven to which Creation sighs.
About thy prow
I know what Nereids now
Are dancing, wreathed with rainbows of the foam.
Thy sailors' eyes
See nought but sea and skies,
And darkening water-paths that lead from home.
I know what Nereids now
Are dancing, wreathed with rainbows of the foam.
Thy sailors' eyes
See nought but sea and skies,
And darkening water-paths that lead from home.
15
I too, who wait
As one without the gate,
Do I not here and now some place inherit
That other eyes
Look to as Paradise,
The Eden of some other banished spirit?
As one without the gate,
Do I not here and now some place inherit
That other eyes
Look to as Paradise,
The Eden of some other banished spirit?
So blank to me,
This very street may be
A golden highway of Jerusalem,
Where hosts unseen
Fill all the space between,
And I not hear the softest plume of them!
This very street may be
A golden highway of Jerusalem,
Where hosts unseen
Fill all the space between,
And I not hear the softest plume of them!
Thank God for dreams!
If earth were what it seems,
And nought the rainbow, nought the nightingale,
I'd rather be
The dumb beast, feeding free,
Than watch with human eyes yon dwindling sail.
If earth were what it seems,
And nought the rainbow, nought the nightingale,
I'd rather be
The dumb beast, feeding free,
Than watch with human eyes yon dwindling sail.
16
THE GATE OF HEAVEN.
Whither leads the gatewayThat stands at the top of the hill,
With bars against the sky?
A child, I dreamed thereby
To enter Heaven straightway.
I am old, but I know still
That the edge of the world is there,
And beyond is Paradise,
The land that is more fair
Than the wisdom of the wise.
I know it; for did I climb
In my beggar-clouts of sin,
And gross with this world's grime,
I could not enter in,
Though I waited times and a time.
No sight of glory nor sound
Of rapture should reach me there;
Only the common ground,
Only the old despair.
17
TO THE WAYSIDE ADVERTISERS.
The voice of the waters we hear as an alien tongue,
And the voices of birds that in thickets of Eden sung;
The voice of the winds in the forest, the waves on the beach,
We hear but we understand not, and who will teach?
And the voices of birds that in thickets of Eden sung;
The voice of the winds in the forest, the waves on the beach,
We hear but we understand not, and who will teach?
The wisdom of God, the glory of Heaven, lies
Round us and over, in earth and sea and skies,
As the undeciphered script of an Eastern scroll,
Whose beauty we cherish, but have no key to its soul.
Round us and over, in earth and sea and skies,
As the undeciphered script of an Eastern scroll,
Whose beauty we cherish, but have no key to its soul.
You, whose eyes are holden, whose ears are dull,
To whom the mystery of beauty is nought and null;
Who wake not as birds with the sunrise, as flowers with the spring,
And account of the rainbow itself as a common thing;
To whom the mystery of beauty is nought and null;
Who wake not as birds with the sunrise, as flowers with the spring,
And account of the rainbow itself as a common thing;
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This we pray you, for we are your brothers too,
Happier it may be, we say not better, than you:
Use for the service of Man the earth's wide breast,
But raze not the writing of God for your palimpsest!
Happier it may be, we say not better, than you:
Use for the service of Man the earth's wide breast,
But raze not the writing of God for your palimpsest!
19
THE EREMITE.
O poets, when ye walk alone
Where Nature's face is fair,
Seek not the mirror of your own
Imaginations there!
Where Nature's face is fair,
Seek not the mirror of your own
Imaginations there!
Thou lover-minstrel 'neath the moon,
Listening the nightingale,
Take not that hour of heavenly boon
To heighten thy love-tale!
Listening the nightingale,
Take not that hour of heavenly boon
To heighten thy love-tale!
The sea-wind in the woods of pine,
hath it no mysteries
More deep than some light grief of thine,
Thy self-consoling sighs?
hath it no mysteries
More deep than some light grief of thine,
Thy self-consoling sighs?
The dream-world spread beneath the hill,
The snow-towers touching heaven,
Have they for thee no finer thrill
Than a girl's love hath given?
The snow-towers touching heaven,
Have they for thee no finer thrill
Than a girl's love hath given?
Go, poet, forth by field and stream,
Lone mountain, desert sea;
Wait for the touch of God, the gleam,
The hour of ecstacy!
Lone mountain, desert sea;
Wait for the touch of God, the gleam,
The hour of ecstacy!
20
It may be in the lonely ways
Large utterance shall come;
It may be that the vision's daze
Shall leave the sëer dumb.
Large utterance shall come;
It may be that the vision's daze
Shall leave the sëer dumb.
But he to whom the master-key
Of Eden is allowed,
How should he murmur, though not he
May open to the crowd?
Of Eden is allowed,
How should he murmur, though not he
May open to the crowd?
21
MORN IN MID-APRIL.
Dawn with her galloping horses is over the hill,
leading the triumph of Day;
Look how the heaven is paven with roses, and still
Roses grow out of the gray.
leading the triumph of Day;
Look how the heaven is paven with roses, and still
Roses grow out of the gray.
See how the glittering lances are searching the glens,
Setting the daffodil free.
Steam of the sacrifice rises from forests and fens,
Dancing feet dimple the sea.
Setting the daffodil free.
Steam of the sacrifice rises from forests and fens,
Dancing feet dimple the sea.
Lo!—who hath summoned her?—silent new-comer of night,
Traveller weary of wing,
Over the river the swallow hangs, heavy of flight.
Hark! did a nightingale sing?
Traveller weary of wing,
Over the river the swallow hangs, heavy of flight.
Hark! did a nightingale sing?
Just the low prelude—not yet are the raptures of May.
Leap, happy heart to the skies!
Earth and the ages are thine, thou art heir of To-day,
Lord till a new lord arise.
Leap, happy heart to the skies!
Earth and the ages are thine, thou art heir of To-day,
Lord till a new lord arise.
22
THE GODS OF GLADNESS.
When was the last day of garland-wearing,
Of dancing feet and of incense-bearing
In temples under the sky,
Or ever the years grew dark with tears,
Or Earth put childhood by?
Of dancing feet and of incense-bearing
In temples under the sky,
Or ever the years grew dark with tears,
Or Earth put childhood by?
Where and when were the last hands lifted
To Aphrodite the golden-gifted,
To bright Apollo and Pan,
Lovers of earth and makers of mirth
For the happy childhood of Man?
To Aphrodite the golden-gifted,
To bright Apollo and Pan,
Lovers of earth and makers of mirth
For the happy childhood of Man?
How shall we bring back gods departed
To a world so wise and weary-hearted?
Tho' we build the temple again,
It is no god there, but a statue fair,
Or an image stark and vain.
To a world so wise and weary-hearted?
Tho' we build the temple again,
It is no god there, but a statue fair,
Or an image stark and vain.
Gone for ever the gods of gladness.
To-day in the likeness of death and sadness
Men image the most divine;
For a thousand years they have hallowed tears,
And banished mirth from the shrine.
To-day in the likeness of death and sadness
Men image the most divine;
For a thousand years they have hallowed tears,
And banished mirth from the shrine.
23
ON BRIGHTON CLIFFS.
Night after night this miracle is seen,Sunset and silver waters, moon and star;
And when Sabaoth fills the deep serene,
And Heaven is near and human noise is far;
Then the night-flowering Cereus of the soul
Opens, and wafts a wordless prayer to Heaven,
And faintly feels the music of the Whole,
All harm forgotten and all hurt forgiven.
And what of these vain vulgar myriad lives?
Have they some unheard music as they pass,
Unlovely each, yet making in the mass
Some God-delighting beauty that survives
Serene and lovely as the silver sea,
Where all foul things and cruel creatures be?
24
A SLEEPING CITY.
The silence of a sleeping city fillsThe hungering soul more than the jar and feud
And noonday noises of the multitude.
It hath a mystic kinship with the hills,
With torrents thundering in lonely ghylls,
With shoreless seas, and awful solitude
Of deserts, where are giant statues hewed
By hands unknown for old despotic wills.
Man's soul is vaster than man's senses. Lo,
Where eye and ear find nothing, avenues
More secret open; and by ways untrod
The stealing thoughts come, silent as the flow
Of inland tides, and tranquilly infuse
Our muddy shallows with fresh streams from God.
25
A VIOLIN.
Sweet as the earliest bird the woodland waking,When snows fade softly from the shrouded earth;
Sweet as the whispered love that stills the aching
Of young hearts bidding first adieu to mirth;
Sweet as the pattering rain the parched land slaking,
When night falls cloudily on fields of dearth;
Sweet as the sudden sea on tired eyes breaking
Filled with the terror of the great world's girth;
Sweeter than all things save their own dear sweetness,
The soft notes streaming from thy light-touched strings.
I have not known delight of such completeness
In nightingales nor any bird that sings.
'Tis God's own voice made clear in benediction
To hush earth's loud self-pity in her affliction.
26
THE POET'S POET.
The Poet's poet one hath called thee, Keats;The light tongue knowing not what praise it gave;
For such are not these rhymers of the streets,
But Nature's self, a Sappho sweet and grave.
He hears a rolling Epic in the wave;
The wind a fitful Elegy repeats;
The rainbow hath a Sonnet's numbered sweets;
And bright Anthologies the woodland pave.
Thy book is one with Nature's. Here are embers
On moss-grown altars flowering into flame;
Huge sorrows, like the snows of all Decembers
Heaped upon mountains; and the hushed acclaim
Of firwoods filled with what the wind remembers
Of wide tumultuous waters whence it came.
27
A WILD ROSE'S STORY.
Mother of millions, thou dear Earth
What joy is like the rose's birth?
What time the holy nightingale
Had hushed her, and the stars grew pale,
The light wind-herald of the morn,
Whispered, A rose is to be born!
A dream first stirred my dreamless sleep,
As life came to me from the deep.
Then, brightening as the earth ran round
To meet the life-giver, the sun,
Came clearer sense of sight and sound;
And shadows of the shapes around,
The trees, the grasses on the ground,
My own leaves one by one,
Pierced the green curtains of my husk,
And shaped my dreaming in the dusk.
Silently from the oak-tree's crown
A golden-footed beam stole down;
It touched the topmost briar, it kissed
My tender bud, and like a mist
Fled dreams and night away;
My heart had opened ere I wist
To welcome the warm ray;
And blushing with the bliss of birth
I lay the fairest thing on earth
Upon earth's fairest day.
What joy is like the rose's birth?
What time the holy nightingale
Had hushed her, and the stars grew pale,
The light wind-herald of the morn,
Whispered, A rose is to be born!
A dream first stirred my dreamless sleep,
As life came to me from the deep.
Then, brightening as the earth ran round
To meet the life-giver, the sun,
Came clearer sense of sight and sound;
And shadows of the shapes around,
The trees, the grasses on the ground,
My own leaves one by one,
Pierced the green curtains of my husk,
And shaped my dreaming in the dusk.
Silently from the oak-tree's crown
A golden-footed beam stole down;
It touched the topmost briar, it kissed
My tender bud, and like a mist
Fled dreams and night away;
28
To welcome the warm ray;
And blushing with the bliss of birth
I lay the fairest thing on earth
Upon earth's fairest day.
Ah, how can any language tell,
For eyes that have not seen to see,
The gladness of that place, the spell
On grass and flower and tree?
It was a long scarce-trodden lane,
With tender grasses half o'ergrown,
And flowers that never felt the pain
Of the sheer-falling, wounding rain,
But drank the gentle mists alone
That stole there when the rain was done.
That hallowed ground with leafy roof
'Gainst rain and burning sun was proof.
Light wands of hazel, pillar-wise,
Bore up o'er-arching traceries,
Green, shadowy, pierced with shining eyes.
And, seen beneath the fretted eaves,
When the light wind went by,
Through fluttering lattice of the leaves
Were morsels of the sky,
Like shadow-weaving of the waves
On shoals where moonbeams lie.
With many a sister-rose I hung
On a lithe briar that climbed and clung
About the hazels high;
Here a long bough with blossoms swung
The tall grass stems anigh,
Now lowly loved the bank, and now
Tossed wreath on wreath up, careless how,
Only to touch the topmost bough
And fearless face the sky.
The hyacinth was at our feet;
And honeysuckle, nectar-sweet,
Wreathed many an odorous bloom with ours,
A flower-crown for the queen of flowers.
Red fox-gloves on the banks below
Stood stately, like a royal show;
Where wealthy bees in furs and gold
Climbed heavily each honied hold,
Then whirring off on sudden wing
Set all the blooms like bells aswing.
For eyes that have not seen to see,
The gladness of that place, the spell
On grass and flower and tree?
It was a long scarce-trodden lane,
With tender grasses half o'ergrown,
And flowers that never felt the pain
Of the sheer-falling, wounding rain,
But drank the gentle mists alone
That stole there when the rain was done.
That hallowed ground with leafy roof
'Gainst rain and burning sun was proof.
Light wands of hazel, pillar-wise,
Bore up o'er-arching traceries,
Green, shadowy, pierced with shining eyes.
And, seen beneath the fretted eaves,
When the light wind went by,
Through fluttering lattice of the leaves
Were morsels of the sky,
Like shadow-weaving of the waves
On shoals where moonbeams lie.
29
On a lithe briar that climbed and clung
About the hazels high;
Here a long bough with blossoms swung
The tall grass stems anigh,
Now lowly loved the bank, and now
Tossed wreath on wreath up, careless how,
Only to touch the topmost bough
And fearless face the sky.
The hyacinth was at our feet;
And honeysuckle, nectar-sweet,
Wreathed many an odorous bloom with ours,
A flower-crown for the queen of flowers.
Red fox-gloves on the banks below
Stood stately, like a royal show;
Where wealthy bees in furs and gold
Climbed heavily each honied hold,
Then whirring off on sudden wing
Set all the blooms like bells aswing.
So half the day in happy pride
And pure delight to Be,
I lived, nor looked beyond, beside
This life, nor hoped for joy more wide
Nor feared for joy to flee;
Happy to feel the shadows glide
Across my face at hot noontide,
Or the light wind from side to side
Sway my light briar and me.
And hour by hour, my ripening breast
Delight more wonderful possessed.
And pure delight to Be,
I lived, nor looked beyond, beside
This life, nor hoped for joy more wide
Nor feared for joy to flee;
Happy to feel the shadows glide
30
Or the light wind from side to side
Sway my light briar and me.
And hour by hour, my ripening breast
Delight more wonderful possessed.
About me at the busy noon
The wild bee droned his drowsy tune,
And many a winged adventurer
My silken lip did lightly stir.
I heeded not—my heart was mine;
The dew they drank, but not the wine.
Till like a wind-borne leaf went by
On rainbow wings a butterfly.
Through shadow and shafts of sun he came,
Flickering like a coloured flame;
His plumes, resplendent from the husk,
Enlightened all the leafy dusk.
But when he saw our blossoms white
Hang half-transparent in the light,
He left the foxglove on the bank,
The common campion, red and rank,
And spread his gleaming wings elate
To seek delights more delicate.
He hovered o'er each pink-white petal,
And joyed in each gold heart to settle.
What love is stainless as the love
Of flower to flower? As stars above
Across the unlinked leagues of space
Flash light from shining face to face,
So flower to flower its blushes throws;
The rose is sister to the rose;
Her lover is the butterfly,
Who radiant as a god goes by,
Love's messenger from bloom to bloom
Of honey-wafts and heart's perfume.
No touch makes base the love of flowers;
No fevered yearning these devours
For hopeless faces. None deny
Their suit. They know no jealousy.
Their love is worship, their desire
Religious as an altar-fire.
The wild bee droned his drowsy tune,
And many a winged adventurer
My silken lip did lightly stir.
I heeded not—my heart was mine;
The dew they drank, but not the wine.
Till like a wind-borne leaf went by
On rainbow wings a butterfly.
Through shadow and shafts of sun he came,
Flickering like a coloured flame;
His plumes, resplendent from the husk,
Enlightened all the leafy dusk.
But when he saw our blossoms white
Hang half-transparent in the light,
He left the foxglove on the bank,
The common campion, red and rank,
And spread his gleaming wings elate
To seek delights more delicate.
He hovered o'er each pink-white petal,
And joyed in each gold heart to settle.
31
Of flower to flower? As stars above
Across the unlinked leagues of space
Flash light from shining face to face,
So flower to flower its blushes throws;
The rose is sister to the rose;
Her lover is the butterfly,
Who radiant as a god goes by,
Love's messenger from bloom to bloom
Of honey-wafts and heart's perfume.
No touch makes base the love of flowers;
No fevered yearning these devours
For hopeless faces. None deny
Their suit. They know no jealousy.
Their love is worship, their desire
Religious as an altar-fire.
The bright wings wavered broad and near;
I could not call my love to me,
But every glowing tint said clear:
Am I not fair enough for thee?
And as his welcome well he knew
Impetuous to my heart he flew.
I could not call my love to me,
But every glowing tint said clear:
Am I not fair enough for thee?
And as his welcome well he knew
Impetuous to my heart he flew.
Ah, what is Life to men or flowers?
A space of time, a span of hours?
A calendar of day and night?
Or one full moment of delight,
That comes unhoped, and cannot stay,
But washes all the rest away?
He drank my honey thirstily,
He drained my sweet life-honey dry,
Then rose with upright wings to fly;
And Life, the moment, was o'erpast.
A leaf its little shadow cast
Across the heart where Love had been;
But what could trouble the serene
Of clear unclouded memory?
Let who hath loved not, weep to die!
Not who hath taken love's full cup,
And drunk it to the sweet dregs up!
Peace held me like a folded wing;
I craved a blackbird's voice to sing
A psalm of sunset ere death stole
By leaf and leaf my sentient soul.
So, passion over, life ran weak;
The last faint fire-tint left my cheek;
My lustred petals drooped; I lay
To dream an ebbing life away,
As little clouds in moonlight pass
Melted into the heaven of glass.
But as I languished low, a sound
Unknown before bid life rebound.
No voice it was that I had heard,
Sighing of wind or song of bird;
Yet all at once I understood:
A girl was singing in the wood.
And as I looked, the darkening lane
Suddenly lightened; as the fane,
When to the fasting worshipper
At last the godhead doth appear.
Three maidens, fair of face as I
When first I opened to the sky,
Drew, like a dream of angels, nigh.
The fever of a fond regret
Came on me suddenly:
Would that the blush of morning yet
Unminished were in me!
That I might be a worthy prize
For those soft hands and sinless eyes!
For when beside the briar they came,
Joy through their faces went like flame.
They drew the hazels down o'erhead,
The long lithe wands, rose-garlanded,
And lightly reaped the harvest rare
Of rose and rosebud, all the fair.
Alas, not me, poor pale-white rose,
Wide open, soon to die, they chose!
But she that hard beside me sought
A bud with red tints ripe for blowing,
Clasping its stem, my close stem caught,
And plucked me, wishing not nor knowing;
But seeing said: ‘You too, wan flower,
Shall live with me your last short hour;
For even the dead leaf is divine
Of roses that have wreathed the shrine
Of Love or Nature. Nor may I
Sin as they sin who carelessly
Pluck flowers from life, then fling them by.
For howso well the flowers we tend,
Torn from their mother stem,
Can love or worship make amend
For all we take from them?
So, rose, lie here your life remaining,
And smile sweet pardon for your paining!’
A space of time, a span of hours?
32
Or one full moment of delight,
That comes unhoped, and cannot stay,
But washes all the rest away?
He drank my honey thirstily,
He drained my sweet life-honey dry,
Then rose with upright wings to fly;
And Life, the moment, was o'erpast.
A leaf its little shadow cast
Across the heart where Love had been;
But what could trouble the serene
Of clear unclouded memory?
Let who hath loved not, weep to die!
Not who hath taken love's full cup,
And drunk it to the sweet dregs up!
Peace held me like a folded wing;
I craved a blackbird's voice to sing
A psalm of sunset ere death stole
By leaf and leaf my sentient soul.
So, passion over, life ran weak;
The last faint fire-tint left my cheek;
My lustred petals drooped; I lay
To dream an ebbing life away,
As little clouds in moonlight pass
Melted into the heaven of glass.
33
Unknown before bid life rebound.
No voice it was that I had heard,
Sighing of wind or song of bird;
Yet all at once I understood:
A girl was singing in the wood.
And as I looked, the darkening lane
Suddenly lightened; as the fane,
When to the fasting worshipper
At last the godhead doth appear.
Three maidens, fair of face as I
When first I opened to the sky,
Drew, like a dream of angels, nigh.
The fever of a fond regret
Came on me suddenly:
Would that the blush of morning yet
Unminished were in me!
That I might be a worthy prize
For those soft hands and sinless eyes!
For when beside the briar they came,
Joy through their faces went like flame.
They drew the hazels down o'erhead,
The long lithe wands, rose-garlanded,
And lightly reaped the harvest rare
Of rose and rosebud, all the fair.
34
Wide open, soon to die, they chose!
But she that hard beside me sought
A bud with red tints ripe for blowing,
Clasping its stem, my close stem caught,
And plucked me, wishing not nor knowing;
But seeing said: ‘You too, wan flower,
Shall live with me your last short hour;
For even the dead leaf is divine
Of roses that have wreathed the shrine
Of Love or Nature. Nor may I
Sin as they sin who carelessly
Pluck flowers from life, then fling them by.
For howso well the flowers we tend,
Torn from their mother stem,
Can love or worship make amend
For all we take from them?
So, rose, lie here your life remaining,
And smile sweet pardon for your paining!’
Ah, wonder! to be asked forgiving
Of her whose touch was like new living!
And I was dumb—a tongueless thing!
How should she understand
What love, her sweet love answering,
Was cradled in her hand?
Yet haply by some subtler sense
Soul had of soul intelligence,
As softly in a sunset calm
I nestled in that tender palm.
Of her whose touch was like new living!
And I was dumb—a tongueless thing!
How should she understand
What love, her sweet love answering,
Was cradled in her hand?
35
Soul had of soul intelligence,
As softly in a sunset calm
I nestled in that tender palm.
The slender hands were laden full,
The slender fingers left to pull,
And joyous on their way the three
Went bearing their light load, and me.
The grey heads of the stately grass
Bent in obeisance as they pass;
Rude brambles caught at garments trailing,
Rough-handed suitors unprevailing;
Tall foxgloves, as with sorrow drooping,
Bowed in farewell through fern-leaves stooping.
So passed we down the deepening shade,
Until the long-drawn colonnade
Curved westward, and behold the way
Was flooded with a blinding day.
The hazel-vault ran on the same,
But widening to the end became
A fiery furnace-mouth of flame,
Where, gazing through a smoke of gold,
Scarce might the dazzled sight behold
The dying sun, who with both hands
Blest hills and woods and purple lands.
Each leaflet in the burning air
Like Elfin gold-work glows;
Each white robe flamed—an angel's wear,
Each white face flushed—a rose.
The slender fingers left to pull,
And joyous on their way the three
Went bearing their light load, and me.
The grey heads of the stately grass
Bent in obeisance as they pass;
Rude brambles caught at garments trailing,
Rough-handed suitors unprevailing;
Tall foxgloves, as with sorrow drooping,
Bowed in farewell through fern-leaves stooping.
So passed we down the deepening shade,
Until the long-drawn colonnade
Curved westward, and behold the way
Was flooded with a blinding day.
The hazel-vault ran on the same,
But widening to the end became
A fiery furnace-mouth of flame,
Where, gazing through a smoke of gold,
Scarce might the dazzled sight behold
The dying sun, who with both hands
36
Each leaflet in the burning air
Like Elfin gold-work glows;
Each white robe flamed—an angel's wear,
Each white face flushed—a rose.
So came we to the end—the lane
Opened upon a world, a plain
Of Eden, and fair hills of Heaven,
Like visions of the Pilgrim's sweven.
Down from our height, in green and red
Long slopes of wheat and poppies led
To level leasowes; and between
Much woodland; on one side, half seen,
A hamlet hid in elms, aloof
From highways, clustering rick and roof
And lowly church-tower—a nest
For sight amid long flight to rest.
And up beyond, by low red foreland
Of quarried sand, by gloom of moorland
And barren heath, by darker verge
Of firwoods like grey seas with surge
Of sunlit emerald, the eye
Ran on to the world-boundary,
The smooth round hills in slumber deep;
And the sun kissed them in their sleep.
Long time the sisters lingered there
In silence, for the hour was rare,
As if old Earth, amid her pain,
Was visited of God again;
But when the loitering sun at last
Behind the northern hills had passed,
And over in the deepening sky
Opened the first clear starry eye,
Homeward they turned in tender mood
The dewy fields along;
And the girl-singer of the wood
Took up again her song.
Opened upon a world, a plain
Of Eden, and fair hills of Heaven,
Like visions of the Pilgrim's sweven.
Down from our height, in green and red
Long slopes of wheat and poppies led
To level leasowes; and between
Much woodland; on one side, half seen,
A hamlet hid in elms, aloof
From highways, clustering rick and roof
And lowly church-tower—a nest
For sight amid long flight to rest.
And up beyond, by low red foreland
Of quarried sand, by gloom of moorland
And barren heath, by darker verge
Of firwoods like grey seas with surge
Of sunlit emerald, the eye
Ran on to the world-boundary,
The smooth round hills in slumber deep;
And the sun kissed them in their sleep.
37
In silence, for the hour was rare,
As if old Earth, amid her pain,
Was visited of God again;
But when the loitering sun at last
Behind the northern hills had passed,
And over in the deepening sky
Opened the first clear starry eye,
Homeward they turned in tender mood
The dewy fields along;
And the girl-singer of the wood
Took up again her song.
‘O, Love, too late returning!
Why came you not before,
Ere tears had quenched the burning,
Or time had healed the sore?
Ere Faith had learned to falter,
Or praise been hushed to prayer,
When roses wreathed the altar,
And not one dead leaf there?
Why came you not before,
Ere tears had quenched the burning,
Or time had healed the sore?
Ere Faith had learned to falter,
Or praise been hushed to prayer,
When roses wreathed the altar,
And not one dead leaf there?
‘O Love, too late returning!
What welcome is there now,
When eyes have ceased from burning,
And fever left the brow;
And haply till the morrow
One leaf alone to save,
One roseleaf left for Sorrow
To lay upon Love's grave?’
What welcome is there now,
When eyes have ceased from burning,
And fever left the brow;
38
One leaf alone to save,
One roseleaf left for Sorrow
To lay upon Love's grave?’
The song had hushed; and now they spoke
Most musically low;
And in me some strange power awoke
That silver speech to know,
Not by interpreting of words,
But tonewise, like the tongue of birds.
(For Nature's fairest, each with each,
Man, bird, and flower, have common speech).
And like a many-chorded theme
Of music, in majestic dream,
Out of the converse of the three
Their picture-thoughts passed into me.
I saw the world beyond my ken,
The cities and the ways of men,
The ocean and the mighty girth
Of unimaginable earth,
And images more bright than words
Of spotted beasts and jewelled birds,
Of roses richer red than I,
Of hill-flowers bluer than the sky.
The feel of all Earth's beauty thrilled me;
A fellowship of gladness filled me:
Am I not too alive to-day,
Part of this wonder-world, as they?
Most musically low;
And in me some strange power awoke
That silver speech to know,
Not by interpreting of words,
But tonewise, like the tongue of birds.
(For Nature's fairest, each with each,
Man, bird, and flower, have common speech).
And like a many-chorded theme
Of music, in majestic dream,
Out of the converse of the three
Their picture-thoughts passed into me.
I saw the world beyond my ken,
The cities and the ways of men,
The ocean and the mighty girth
Of unimaginable earth,
And images more bright than words
Of spotted beasts and jewelled birds,
Of roses richer red than I,
Of hill-flowers bluer than the sky.
39
A fellowship of gladness filled me:
Am I not too alive to-day,
Part of this wonder-world, as they?
Ev'n as I thrilled, a little breath
Touched me, and like the hand of death,
Loosed one white petal; with no sound
It wavered lightly to the ground.
A soft voice spake: ‘Poor rose!’ she said,
‘Poor day-lived beauty, quickly dead!
Why are you lovely, little flower,
Robed like an actor for one hour
Of mimic life and show of mirth
Upon the dusty stage of earth?
Alas! the little life of flowers!
That cometh not again, as ours,
In glad redemption after death,
But passes like a mirror-breath,
None careth, none remembereth!’
Touched me, and like the hand of death,
Loosed one white petal; with no sound
It wavered lightly to the ground.
A soft voice spake: ‘Poor rose!’ she said,
‘Poor day-lived beauty, quickly dead!
Why are you lovely, little flower,
Robed like an actor for one hour
Of mimic life and show of mirth
Upon the dusty stage of earth?
Alas! the little life of flowers!
That cometh not again, as ours,
In glad redemption after death,
But passes like a mirror-breath,
None careth, none remembereth!’
Then answered her the girl who pressed
My faded petals to her breast,
My spirit's bright interpreter;
As if from me had passed to her,
Through the soul's fine affinity,
My very self, she made reply:
‘I live: no more is mine to know.
The hours, the moments, as they go,
Are mine, full-freighted. Just to live
Strains every pulse too strong to give
One beat to other hours than this,
The past, the future, sorrow, bliss.
To-morrow thou shalt not be Thou!
Well, yesterday I was not; Now
I Am. The dew, the sun, the air,
Are mine. I have no other care.’
My faded petals to her breast,
My spirit's bright interpreter;
As if from me had passed to her,
Through the soul's fine affinity,
My very self, she made reply:
40
The hours, the moments, as they go,
Are mine, full-freighted. Just to live
Strains every pulse too strong to give
One beat to other hours than this,
The past, the future, sorrow, bliss.
To-morrow thou shalt not be Thou!
Well, yesterday I was not; Now
I Am. The dew, the sun, the air,
Are mine. I have no other care.’
I heard the soft words fall and cease;
They seemed an epitaph of peace.
And as they ended, silently
My silken petals dropped from me
Like kisses on the hand that bore;
And suddenly I knew no more.
They seemed an epitaph of peace.
And as they ended, silently
My silken petals dropped from me
Like kisses on the hand that bore;
And suddenly I knew no more.
| Through the Gateway | |