 | Sonnets |  |
71
TO DR. WILHELM JORDAN.
I.
JORDAN, I stand a-gaze upon the shore
Of that deep mind of thine, and trembling hold
My breath the while thy pæans glad and bold
Above the wild world's discord rise and soar.
So came the desert-wearied ones of yore,
To rest and breathe refreshment manifold,
Beside thy sweet-voiced name-stream, as it rolled;
So paused, and quailed its sounding depths before.
Of that deep mind of thine, and trembling hold
My breath the while thy pæans glad and bold
Above the wild world's discord rise and soar.
So came the desert-wearied ones of yore,
To rest and breathe refreshment manifold,
Beside thy sweet-voiced name-stream, as it rolled;
So paused, and quailed its sounding depths before.
Yes, looking down thy stream of thought, so clear,
So clear, yet bottomless, my mortal hand
Clips the frail growth around—the first thing near—
To stay my feet, else from that giddy stand
My soul could fall with one blind plunge and sheer
Quit of thy boundless hopes and promised land!
So clear, yet bottomless, my mortal hand
Clips the frail growth around—the first thing near—
To stay my feet, else from that giddy stand
My soul could fall with one blind plunge and sheer
Quit of thy boundless hopes and promised land!
72
II.
One day, perplexed with desert wandering,
I clomb that Pisgah of young thought, from whence
New prophets glass for us a scene immense—
Vast beyond hope or reach of seraph's wing.
Was it the valley mist that so did cling
Around me, or but due to feebler sense,
That at the heart of splendour so intense
I felt the void of every cherished thing?
I clomb that Pisgah of young thought, from whence
New prophets glass for us a scene immense—
Vast beyond hope or reach of seraph's wing.
Was it the valley mist that so did cling
Around me, or but due to feebler sense,
That at the heart of splendour so intense
I felt the void of every cherished thing?
I know not, but I know that from that height
Love, who is still a tender child and shy,
Was taken weeping and in piteous plight—
Nor ever more the place will come a-nigh—
That he is all my business and delight,
And I elect with him to live or die!
Love, who is still a tender child and shy,
Was taken weeping and in piteous plight—
Nor ever more the place will come a-nigh—
That he is all my business and delight,
And I elect with him to live or die!
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