| |
| NOW, sitting by her side, worn out with weeping, | |
| Behold, I fell to sleep, and had a vision, | |
| Wherein I heard a wondrous Voice intoning: | |
| |
| Crying aloud, “The Master on His throne | |
| Openeth now the seventh seal of wonder, | 5 |
| And beckoneth back the angel men name Death. | |
| |
| “And at His feet the mighty Angel kneeleth, | |
| Breathing not; and the Lord doth look upon him, | |
| Saying, ‘Thy wanderings on earth are ended.’ | |
| |
| “And lo! the mighty Shadow sitteth idle | 10 |
| Even at the silver gates of heaven, | |
| Drowsily looking in on quiet waters, | |
| And puts his silence among men no longer.” | |
| |
| The world was very quiet. Men in traffic | |
| Cast looks over their shoulders; pallid seamen | 15 |
| Shiver’d to walk upon the decks alone; | |
| |
| And women barr’d their doors with bars of iron, | |
| In the silence of the night; and at the sunrise | |
| Trembled behind the husbandmen afield. | |
| |
| I could not see a kirkyard near or far; | 20 |
| I thirsted for a green grave, and my vision | |
| Was weary for the white gleam of a tombstone. | |
| |
| But harkening dumbly, ever and anon | |
| I heard a cry out of a human dwelling, | |
| And felt the cold wind of a lost one’s going. | 25 |
| |
| One struck a brother fiercely, and he fell, | |
| And faded in a darkness; and that other | |
| Tore his hair, and was afraid, and could not perish. | |
| |
| One struck his aged mother on the mouth, | |
| And she vanish’d with a gray grief from his hearthstone. | 30 |
| One melted from her bairn, and on the ground | |
| |
| With sweet unconscious eyes the bairn lay smiling. | |
| And many made a weeping among mountains, | |
| And hid themselves in caverns, and were drunken. | |
| |
| I heard a voice from out the beauteous earth, | 35 |
| Whose side roll’d up from winter into summer, | |
| Crying, “I am grievous for my children.” | |
| |
| I heard a voice from out the hoary ocean, | |
| Crying, “Burial in the breast of me were better, | |
| Yea, burial in the salt flags and green crystals.” | 40 |
| |
| I heard a voice from out the hollow ether, | |
| Saying, “The thing ye curs’d hath been abolish’d— | |
| Corruption and decay, and dissolution!” | |
| |
| And the world shriek’d, and the summertime was bitter, | |
| And men and women fear’d the air behind them; | 45 |
| And for lack of its green graves the world was hateful. | |
| |
| Now at the bottom of a snowy mountain | |
| I came upon a woman thin with sorrow, | |
| Whose voice was like the crying of a seagull: | |
| |
| Saying, “O Angel of the Lord, come hither, | 50 |
| And bring me him I seek for on thy bosom, | |
| That I may close his eyelids and embrace him. | |
| |
| “I curse thee that I cannot look upon him! | |
| I curse thee that I know not he is sleeping! | |
| Yet know that he has vanish’d upon God! | 55 |
| |
| “I laid my little girl upon a wood bier, | |
| And very sweet she seem’d, and near unto me; | |
| And slipping flowers into her shroud was comfort. | |
| |
| “I put my silver mother in the darkness, | |
| And kiss’d her, and was solaced by her kisses, | 60 |
| And set a stone, to mark the place, above her. | |
| |
| “And green, green were their sleeping places, | |
| So green that it was pleasant to remember | |
| That I and my tall man would sleep beside them. | |
| |
| “The closing of dead eyelids is not dreadful, | 65 |
| For comfort comes upon us when we close them, | |
| And tears fall, and our sorrow grows familiar; | |
| |
| “And we can sit above them where they slumber, | |
| And spin a dreamy pain into a sweetness, | |
| And know indeed that we are very near them. | 70 |
| |
| “But to reach out empty arms is surely dreadful, | |
| And to feel the hollow empty world is awful, | |
| And bitter grows the silence and the distance. | |
| |
| “There is no space for grieving or for weeping; | |
| No touch, no cold, no agony to strive with, | 75 |
| And nothing but a horror and a blankness!” | |
| |
| Now behold I saw a woman in a mud hut | |
| Raking the white spent embers with her fingers, | |
| And fouling her bright hair with the white ashes. | |
| |
| Her mouth was very bitter with the ashes; | 80 |
| Her eyes with dust were blinded; and her sorrow | |
| Sobb’d in the throat of her like gurgling water. | |
| |
| And all around the voiceless hills were hoary, | |
| But red lights scorch’d their edges; and above her | |
| There was a soundless trouble of the vapors. | 85 |
| |
| “Whither, and O whither,” said the woman, | |
| “O Spirit of the Lord, hast thou convey’d them, | |
| My little ones, my little son and daughter? | |
| |
| “For, lo! we wander’d forth at early morning, | |
| And winds were blowing round us, and their mouths | 90 |
| Blew rosebuds to the rosebuds, and their eyes | |
| |
| “Look’d violets at the violets, and their hair | |
| Made sunshine in the sunshine, and their passing | |
| Left a pleasure in the dewy leaves behind them; | |
| |
| “And suddenly my little son look’d upward | 95 |
| And his eyes were dried like dewdrops; and his going | |
| Was like a blow of fire upon my face; | |
| |
| “And my little son was gone. My little daughter | |
| Look’d round me for him, clinging to my vesture; | |
| But the Lord had drawn him from me, and I knew it | 100 |
| |
| “By the sign He gives the stricken, that the lost one | |
| Lingers nowhere on the earth, on the hill or valley, | |
| Neither underneath the grasses nor the tree roots. | |
| |
| “And my shriek was like the splitting of an ice-reef, | |
| And I sank among my hair, and all my palm | 105 |
| Was moist and warm where the little hand had fill’d it. | |
| |
| “Then I fled and sought him wildly, hither and thither— | |
| Though I knew that he was stricken from me wholly | |
| By the token that the Spirit gives the stricken. | |
| |
| “I sought him in the sunlight and the starlight, | 110 |
| I sought him in great forests, and in waters | |
| Where I saw my own pale image looking at me. | |
| |
| “And I forgot my little bright-hair’d daughter, | |
| Though her voice was like a wild-bird’s far behind me, | |
| Till the voice ceas’d, and the universe was silent. | 115 |
| |
| “And stilly, in the starlight, came I backward | |
| To the forest where I miss’d him; and no voices | |
| Brake the stillness as I stoop’d down in the starlight, | |
| |
| “And saw two little shoes filled up with dew, | |
| And no mark of little footsteps any farther, | 120 |
| And knew my little daughter had gone also.” | |
| |
| But beasts died; yea, the cattle in the yoke, | |
| The milk-cow in the meadow, and the sheep, | |
| And the dog upon the doorstep: and men envied. | |
| |
| And birds died; yea, the eagle at the sun gate, | 125 |
| The swan upon the waters, and the farm fowl, | |
| And the swallows on the housetops: and men envied. | |
| |
| And reptiles; yea, the toad upon the road-side, | |
| The slimy, speckled snake among the grass, | |
| The lizard on the ruin: and men envied. | 130 |
| |
| The dog in lonely places cried not over | |
| The body of his master; but it miss’d him, | |
| And whin’d into the air, and died, and rotted. | |
| |
| The traveller’s horse lay swollen in the pathway, | |
| And the blue fly fed upon it; but no traveller | 135 |
| Was there; nay, not his footprint on the ground. | |
| |
| The cat mew’d in the midnight, and the blind | |
| Gave a rustle, and the lamp burnt blue and faint, | |
| And the father’s bed was empty in the morning. | |
| |
| The mother fell to sleep beside the cradle, | 140 |
| Rocking it, while she slumber’d, with her foot, | |
| And waken’d,—and the cradle there was empty. | |
| |
| I saw a two-years’ child, and he was playing; | |
| And he found a dead white bird upon the doorway, | |
| And laugh’d, and ran to show it to his mother. | 145 |
| |
| The mother moan’d, and clutch’d him, and was bitter, | |
| And flung the dead white bird across the threshold; | |
| And another white bird flitted round and round it, | |
| |
| And utter’d a sharp cry, and twitter’d and twitter’d, | |
| And lit beside its dead mate, and grew busy, | 150 |
| Strewing it over with green leaves and yellow. | |
| So far, so far to seek for were the limits | |
| Of affliction; and men’s terror grew a homeless | |
| Terror, yea, and a fatal sense of blankness. | |
| |
| There was no little token of distraction, | 155 |
| There was no visible presence of bereavement, | |
| Such as the mourner easeth out his heart on. | |
| |
| There was no comfort in the slow farewell, | |
| No gentle shutting of beloved eyes, | |
| Nor beautiful broodings over sleeping features. | 160 |
| |
| There were no kisses on familiar faces, | |
| No weaving of white grave-clothes, no last pondering | |
| Over the still wax cheeks and folded fingers. | |
| |
| There was no putting tokens under pillows, | |
| There was no dreadful beauty slowly fading, | 165 |
| Fading like moonlight softly into darkness. | |
| |
| There were no churchyard paths to walk on, thinking | |
| How near the well-beloved ones are lying. | |
| There were no sweet green graves to sit and muse on, | |
| |
| Till grief should grow a summer meditation, | 170 |
| The shadow of the passing of an angel, | |
| And sleeping should seem easy, and not cruel. | |
| |
| Nothing but wondrous parting and a blankness. | |
| |
| But I woke, and, lo! the burthen was uplifted, | |
| And I pray’d within the chamber where she slumber’d, | 175 |
| And my tears flow’d fast and free, but were not bitter. | |
| |
| I eas’d my heart three days by watching near her, | |
| And made her pillow sweet with scent and flowers, | |
| And could bear at last to put her in the darkness. | |
| |
| And I heard the kirk-bells ringing very slowly, | 180 |
| And the priests were in their vestments, and the earth | |
| Dripp’d awful on the hard wood, yet I bore it. | |
| |
| And I cried, “O unseen Sender of Corruption, | |
| I bless Thee for the wonder of Thy mercy, | |
| Which softeneth the mystery and the parting: | 185 |
| |
| “I bless thee for the change and for the comfort, | |
| The bloomless face, shut eyes, and waxen fingers,— | |
| For Sleeping, and for Silence, and Corruption.” | |
| |
