Poems of Emile Verhaeren Part 7

He filled me with his soaring strength, And with sweet fear most tenderly.

Before that vision's dignity, Into his pale, proud hand at length I cast the blood my pain had spent.

Then, laying upon me as he went A charge of valour, and the sign Of the cross on my brow from his lance divine, He sped upon his shining road Straight, with my heart, towards his G.o.d.

THE GARDENS

The landscape now reveals a change; A stair--that twined elm-boughs hold Enclosed 'mid hedges mystic, strange-- Inaugurates a green and gold Vision of gardens, range on range.

Each step's a hope, that doth ascend Stairwise to expectation's height; A weary way it is to wend While noonday suns are burning bright.

But rest waits at the evening's end.

Streams, that wash white from sin, flow deep, And round about the fresh lawns twine; While there, beneath the green banks steep, Beside his cross, the Lamb Divine Lies tranquilly in peaceful sleep.

The daisied gra.s.s is glad, and gay With crystal b.u.t.terflies the hedge.

Where globes of fruit shine blue; here stray Peac.o.c.ks beside the box-trees' edge: A shining lion bars the way.

Flowers, upright as the ecstasies And ardours of white spirits pure, With branches springing fountain-wise, Burst upward, and by impulse sure To their own soaring splendour rise.

Gently and very slowly swayed.

The wind a wordless rhapsody Sings--and the shimm'ring air doth braid An aureole of filigree Round every disk with emerald laid.

Even the shade is but a flight Toward flickering radiances, that slip From s.p.a.ce to s.p.a.ce; and now the light Sleeps, with calmed rays, upon the lip Of lilac-blossoms golden-white.

SHE OF THE GARDEN

In such a spot, with radiant flowers for halo, I saw the Guardian Angel sit her down; Vine-branches fashioned a green shrine above her And sun-flowers rose behind her like a crown.

Her fingers, their white slenderness encircled With humble, fragile rings of coral round.

Held, ranged in couples, sprays of faithful roses.

Sealed with a clasp, with threads of woollen bound.

A shimmering air the golden calm was weaving, All filigree'd with dawn, that like a braid Surmounted her pure brow, which still was hidden Half in the shade.

Woven of linen were her veil and sandals.

But, twined 'mid boughs of foliage, on their hem The theologic Virtues Three were painted; Hearts set about with gold encompa.s.sed them.

Her silken hair, slow rippling, from her shoulder Down to the mosses of the sward did reach; The childhood of her eyes disclosed a silence More sweet than speech.

My arms outstretched, and all my soul upstraining.

Then did I rise, With haggard yearning, toward the soul suspended There in her eyes.

Those eyes, they shone so vivid with remembrance, That they confessed days lived alike with me: Oh, in the grave inviolate can it change, then, The Long Ago, and live in the To Be?

Sure, she was one who, being dead, yet brought me.

Miraculous, a strength that comforteth, And the Viatic.u.m of her survival Guiding me from the further side of Death.

From "LA MULTIPLE SPLENDEUR"

THE GLORY OF THE HEAVENS

Shining in dim transparence, the whole of infinity lies Behind the veil that the finger of radiant winter weaves And down on us falls the foliage of stars in glittering sheaves; From out the depths of the forest, the forest obscure of the skies,

The winged sea with her shadowy floods as of dappled silk Speeds, 'neath the golden fires, her pale immensity o'er; And diamond-rayed, the moonlight, shining along the sh.o.r.e, Bathes the brow of the headlands in radiance as soft as milk.

Yonder there flow, untwining and twining their loops anew!

The mighty, silvery rivers, through the translucent night; And a glint as of wondrous acids sparkles with magic light the cup that the lake outstretches towards the mountains blue.

Everywhere light seems breaking forth into flower and star, Whether on sh.o.r.e in stillness, or wavering on the deep.

The islands are nests where silence inviolate doth deep; An ardent nimbus hovers o'er yon horizons far.

See, from Nadir to Zenith one aureole doth reach!

Of yore, the souls exalted by faith's high mysteries Saw, in the domination of those star-clouded skies, Jehovah's hand resplendent and heard His silent speech.

But now the eyes that scan them no longer may there aspire To we some G.o.d self-banished--not so, but the intricate Tangle of marvellous problems, the messengers that wait On Measureless Force, and veil her, there on her couch of fire.

O cauldrons of life, where matter, adown the eternal day, Pours herself fruitful, seething through paths of scattering flame!

O flux of worlds and reflux to other worlds the same!