A Hidden Life and Other Poems Part 8

How He will greet me, I walk on and wonder; And think I know what I will say to Him.

I fear no sapphire floor of cloudy thunder, I fear no pa.s.sing vision great and dim.

But He knows all my unknown weary story: How will He judge me, pure, and good, and fair?

I come to Him in all His conquered glory, Won from such life as I went dreaming there!

I come; I fall before Him, faintly saying: "Ah, Lord, shall I thy loving favour win?

Earth's beauties tempted me; my walk was straying-- I have no honour--but may I come in?"

"I know thee well. Strong prayer did keep me stable; To me the earth is very lovely too.

Thou shouldst have come to me to make thee able To love it greatly--but thou hast got through."

A BOOK OF DREAMS.

PART II.

1.

_Lord of the world's undying youth, What joys are in thy might!

What beauties of the inner truth, And of the outer sight!

And when the heart is dim and sad, Too weak for wisdom's beam, Thou sometimes makest it right glad With but a childish dream_.

Lo! I will dream this windy day; No sunny spot is bare; Dull vapours, in uncomely play, Are weltering through the air.

If I throw wide my windowed breast To all the blasts that blow, My soul will rival in unrest Those tree-tops--how they go!

But I will dream like any child; For, lo! a mighty swan, With radiant plumage undented, And folded airy van, With serpent neck all proudly bent, And stroke of swarthy oar, Dreams on to me, by sea-maids sent Over the billows h.o.a.r.

For in a wave-worn rock I lie; Outside, the waters foam; And echoes of old storms go by Within my sea-built dome.

The waters, half the gloomy way, Beneath its arches come; Throbbing to unseen billows' play, The green gulfs waver dumb.

A dawning twilight through the cave In moony gleams doth go, Half from the swan above the wave, Half from the swan below.

Close to my feet she gently drifts, Among the glistening things; She stoops her crowny head, and lifts White shoulders of her wings.

Oh! earth is rich with many a nest, Deep, soft, and ever new, Pure, delicate, and full of rest; But dearest there are two.

I would not tell them but to minds That are as white as they; If others hear, of other kinds, I wish them far away.

Upon the neck, between the wings, Of a white, sailing swan, A flaky bed of shelterings-- There you will find the one.

The other--well, it will not out, Nor need I tell it you; I've told you one, and need you doubt, When there are only two?

Fulfil old dreams, O splendid bird, Me o'er the waters bear; Sure never ocean's face was stirred By any ship so fair!

Sure never whiteness found a dress, Upon the earth to go, So true, profound, and rich, unless It was the falling snow.

With quick short flutter of each wing Half-spread, and stooping crown, She calls me; and with one glad spring I nestle in the down.

Plunges the bark, then bounds aloft, With lessening dip and rise.

Round curves her neck with motion soft-- Sure those are woman's eyes.

One stroke unseen, with oary feet, One stroke--away she sweeps; Over the waters pale we fleet, Suspended in the deeps.

And round the sheltering rock, and lo!

The tumbling, weltering sea!

On to the west, away we go, Over the waters free!

Her motions moulded to the wave, Her billowy neck thrown back, With slow strong pulse, stately and grave, She cleaves a rippling track.

And up the mounting wave we glide, With climbing sweeping blow; And down the steep, far-sloping side, To flowing vales below.

I hear the murmur of the deep In countless ripples pa.s.s, Like talking children in their sleep, Like winds in reedy gra.s.s.

And through some ruffled feathers, I The gla.s.sy rolling mark, With which the waves eternally Roll on from dawn to dark.

The night is blue, the stars aglow; In solemn peace o'erhead The archless depth of heaven; below, The murmuring, heaving bed.

A thickened night, it heaveth on, A fallen earthly sky; The shadows of its stars alone Are left to know it by.

What faints across the lifted loop Of cloud-veil upward cast?

With sea-veiled limbs, a sleeping group Of Nereids dreaming past.

Swim on, my boat; who knows but I, Ere night sinks to her grave, May see in splendour pale float by The Venus of the wave?

2.

In the night, round a lady dreaming-- A queen among the dreams-- Came the silent sunset streaming, Mixed with the voice of streams.

A silver fountain springing Blossoms in molten gold; And the airs of the birds float ringing Through harmonies manifold.

She lies in a watered valley; Her garden melts away Through foot-path and curving alley Into the wild wood grey.

And the green of the vale goes creeping To the feet of the rugged hills, Where the moveless rocks are keeping The homes of the wandering rills.

And the hues of the flowers grow deeper, Till they dye her very brain; And their scents, like the soul of a sleeper, Wander and waver and rain.

For dreams have a wealth of glory That daylight cannot give: Ah G.o.d! make the hope a story-- Bid the dreams arise and live.

She lay and gazed at the flowers, Till her soul's own garden smiled With blossom-o'ershaded bowers, Great colours and splendours wild.

And her heart filled up with gladness, Till it could only ache; And it turned aside to sadness, As if for pity's sake.

And a fog came o'er the meadows, And the rich hues fainting lay; Came from the woods the shadows, Came from the rocks the grey.

And the sunset thither had vanished, Where the sunsets always go; And the sounds of the stream were banished, As if slain by frost and snow.

And the flowers paled fast and faster, And they crumbled fold on fold, Till they looked like the stained plaster Of a cornice in ruin old.

And they blackened and shrunk together, As if scorched by the breath of flame, With a sad perplexity whether They were or were not the same.

And she saw herself still lying, And smiling on, the while; And the smile, instead of dying, Was fixed in an idiot smile.

And the lady arose in sorrow Out of her sleep's dark stream; But her dream made dark the morrow, And she told me the haunting dream.

Alas! dear lady, I know it, The dream that all is a dream; The joy with the doubt below it That the bright things only seem.

One moment of sad commotion, And one of doubt's withering rule-- And the great wave-pulsing ocean Is only a gathered pool.

And the flowers are spots of painting, Of lifeless staring hue; Though your heart is sick to fainting, They say not a word to you.

And the birds know nought of gladness, They are only song-machines; And a man is a skilful madness, And the women pictured queens.