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Home  »  Collected Poems by A.E.  »  161. A Midnight Meditation

Walter Murdoch (1874–1970). The Oxford Book of Australasian Verse. 1918.

161. A Midnight Meditation

HOW often have I said,

“We may not grieve for the immortal dead.”

And now, poor blenchèd heart,

Thy ruddy hues all tremulous depart.

Why be with fate at strife

Because one passes on from death to life,

Who may no more delay

Rapt from our strange and pitiful dream away

By one with ancient claim

Who robes her with the spirit like a flame.

Not lost this high belief—

Oh, passionate heart, what is thy cause for grief?

Is this thy sorrow now,

She in eternal beauty may not bow

Thy troubles to efface

As in old time a head with gentle grace

All tenderly laid by thine

Taught thee the nearness of the love divine.

Her joys no more for thee

Than the impartial laughter of the sea,

Her beauty no more fair

For thee alone, but starry, everywhere.

Her pity dropped for you

No more than heaven above with healing dew

Favours one home of men—

Ah! grieve not; she becomes herself again,

And passed beyond thy sight

She roams along the thought-swept fields of light,

Moving in dreams until

She finds again the root of ancient will,

The old heroic love

That emptied once the heavenly courts above.

The angels heard from earth

A mournful cry which shattered all their mirth,

Raised by a senseless rout

Warring in chaos with discordant shout,

And that the pain might cease

They grew rebellious in the Master’s peace;

And falling downward then

The angelic lights were crucified in men;

Leaving so radiant spheres

For earth’s dim twilight ever wet with tears

That through those shadows dim

Might breathe the lovely music brought from Him.

And now my grief I see

Was but that ancient shadow part of me,

Not yet attuned to good,

Still blind and senseless in its warring mood,

I turn from it and climb

To the heroic spirit of the prime,

The light that well foreknew

All the dark ways that it must journey through.

Yet seeing still a gain,

A distant glory o’er the hills of pain,

Through all that chaos wild

A breath as gentle as a little child,

Through earth transformed, divine,

The Christ-soul of the universe to shine.