 | The Finding of The Book and Other Poems |  |
105
A NAMELESS PENITENT
With her a boy of fifteen summers came.
Into the presence of the lad did pass
An influence from a climate as of flame;
And in those lustrous eyes of his there was
A hint of flowers and oceans far away
Amid the woods and waves of Africa.
Into the presence of the lad did pass
An influence from a climate as of flame;
And in those lustrous eyes of his there was
A hint of flowers and oceans far away
Amid the woods and waves of Africa.
Him evermore a shadow overhung,
Not of the great Numidian forests born—
The prophecy of genius that dies young,
The far cloud-film of a too radiant morn.
Ah! they who early pass through one dark gate
Have looks like thine, thou young Adeodate!
Not of the great Numidian forests born—
The prophecy of genius that dies young,
The far cloud-film of a too radiant morn.
Ah! they who early pass through one dark gate
Have looks like thine, thou young Adeodate!
106
Thou art of those who breathe with a strange smile
The delicate words that only genius saith;
Guests whom God spares us but a little while,
For they are wanted in the land of death,
And leave but tracks of light that was not seen,
Hints of a golden land that might have been.
The delicate words that only genius saith;
Guests whom God spares us but a little while,
For they are wanted in the land of death,
And leave but tracks of light that was not seen,
Hints of a golden land that might have been.
Hast thou no mother with a name to note?
It is not written in the tenderest scroll
That love and recollection ever wrote,
The perfected confession of a soul.
Into the dark she glides, a silent shame,
And a veil'd memory without a name.
It is not written in the tenderest scroll
That love and recollection ever wrote,
The perfected confession of a soul.
Into the dark she glides, a silent shame,
And a veil'd memory without a name.
And the world knoweth not what words she pray'd,
With what long wail before the altar wept,
What tale she told, what penitence she made,
Whatmeasure by her beating heart was kept,
Nor in what vale or mountain the earth lies
Upon the passionate Carthaginian's eyes.
With what long wail before the altar wept,
What tale she told, what penitence she made,
Whatmeasure by her beating heart was kept,
Nor in what vale or mountain the earth lies
Upon the passionate Carthaginian's eyes.
107
Well that one penitent hath found such grace
As to be silent in the silent years,
That no light hand hath lifted from her face
The silver veil enwoven of her tears.
Well that to one book and one sod 'tis given
To keep one tender secret half with Heaven.
As to be silent in the silent years,
That no light hand hath lifted from her face
The silver veil enwoven of her tears.
Well that to one book and one sod 'tis given
To keep one tender secret half with Heaven.
Well that the virgin saints of her may cry,
‘Our sister comes, mute after many tears—
Some anguish rounded by a victory
Is hers, some calm after a storm of years.
O noble pity, that consoles her quite!
O large forgiveness, touching all to white!’
‘Our sister comes, mute after many tears—
Some anguish rounded by a victory
Is hers, some calm after a storm of years.
O noble pity, that consoles her quite!
O large forgiveness, touching all to white!’
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