Poems (1885) :: :: University of Virginia Library

[Suggested by the well-known picture of Mr. Holman Hunt, in which the uplifted form of Christ, resting with extended arms from His labour in the carpenter's shop at Nazareth, throws upon the wall of the Virgin's house a figure of a Cross.]

Light and Shadow! Shadow and Light!
Twins that were born at the birth of the sun!
One the secret of all things bright;
The secret of all things sombre, one;

One the joy of the radiant day;
One the spell of the dolorous night:
One at the dew-fall bearing sway;
One at the day-break, rosy and white.

Sister and brother, born of one mother,
Made of a thought of the Infinite One
Made by the wisdom of God—and none other—
In times when the times were not begun.

314

One with the morning-star for its gem,
Glad Eösphorus, herald of beams;
One that wears for its diadem
Pale, sad Hesperus, planet of dreams.

One for the glory and one for the gloom;
One to show forth and one to shroud;
One for the birth and one for the tomb;
One for the clear sky and one for the cloud.

Sister and brother, for ever and ever,
Nowise disparted, and nowhere a-twain;
Mysteries no man's thinking shall sever;
Marvels none can miss, or explain.

Light, which without a shadow shines not!
Shadow, which shows not unless by light!
(For that which we see to sight combines not,
Except by the sides that escape the sight.)

Is this the parable? this the ending?
That nothing lives for us unless with a foil;
That all things show by contrast and blending—
Pleasure by Pain, and Rest by Toil?

315

Strength by Weakness, and Gladness by Sorrow;
Hope by Despair, and Peace by Strife;
The Good by the Evil, the Day by the Morrow;
Love by Hatred, and Death by Life?

Ah! then I hate you, Shadow! Shadow!
Ghost and ghoul of the glittering Light!
If the gold of wisdom, the El Dorado
Of Art must be had in this sorrowful sight.

Shadow! we know how lovely and tender
Are the deeds you do with your witchcraft dim;
What wonderful sorcery tempers the splendour
Of light, in your sisterly play with him!

We know what rose-leaf lips would be cold
Without the soft finish of warm half-light;
We know what tresses would lose their gold
If you did not gloss it and gild it aright.

We know how weary the dawns would go
Lacking the promise of placid eves;
We know how fiercely the hours could glow
Without the kind shadows under the leaves;

316

Yes! and we know how joy would tire,
And gladness turn madness, and life be undone;
And strength prove weakness, and Hope expire,
And Love droop wingless, if change were none.

And, Holiest Shadow of God's great hand!—
That makest the sleep and the spangled night—
I know that by Thee we understand
The stars which in silver His glories write.

And we seem to know that, to eyes like ours,
Dawn by Dusk must usher its state;
That hearts win hope from the darkest hours,
And Love kisses best with a shudder at Hate.

But, Shadow! Shadow! Ghost of the Light!
Be Sadness! be Softness! be solemn Gloom!
Be Death! be Doubt! be the secret of Night!
Be the spell of Beauty! but past the tomb

Thou wendest not with us, accursed Shadow!
That makest a fable of all real things:—
The gold of wisdom, the El Dorado
Of art, a happier musing brings

317

Far off—worlds off—in the Pleiads seven
Is a Star of the Stars—Alcyonë—
The orb which moves never in all the Heaven,
The centre of all sweet Light we see.

And there, thou Shadow of Earth's pale seeming!
The wisest say no shadow can be,
But perfect splendours, lucidly streaming,
And Life and Light at intensity.

Then why did the artist show it thus—
The Sorrow of Sorrows personified—
Painting the carpenter's Son for us
And the Shadow behind of the Crucified?

Meek and sweet in the sun He stands,
Drinking the air of His Syrian skies;
Lifting to Heaven toil-wearied hands,
Seeing “His Father” with those mild eyes;

Gazing from trestle and bench and saw,
To the Kingdom kept for His rule above.
O Christ, the Lord! we see with awe!
Ah! Joseph's son! we look with love!

318

Ah! Mary Mother! we watch with moans
Marking that phantom thy sweet eyes see,
That hateful Shadow upon the stones,
That sign of a coming agony!

Did it happen so once in Nazareth?
Did a Christmas sun show such a sight,
Making from Life a spectre of Death,
Mocking our “Light of the World” with Light?

He tells us—this artist—one Christmas-tide,
The sunset painted that ominous Cross;
The shadows of evening prophesied
The hyssop to Him, and to us the loss.

For, her pang is the pang of us, every one:
Wherever the Light shines the Shadow is;
Where beams a smile must be heard a moan;
The anguish follows the flying bliss.

Yon crown which the Magi brought to her,
It makes a vision of brows that bleed;
Yon censer of spikenard and balm and myrrh,
It looks on the wall like a “sponge and reed.”

319

And, therefore, long ago was it written—
Of a Christmas to come in the realms of Light—
“The curse shall depart and death shall be smitten,
And then there shall be no more night.”

O Christ, our Lord, in that Shadowless Land,
Be mindful of these sad shadows which lie!
Look forth and mark what a woeful band
Of glooms attend us across Thy sky!

“Christmas!” and hear what wars and woe!
“Christmas!” and see what grief o'er all!
Lord Christ! our suns shine out to show
Crosses and thorns on Time's old wall!

So, if Thou art where that star gleams,
Alcyonë, or higher still,
Send down one blessed ray which beams
Free of all shadows—for they kill!