| |
| THE BLESSÈD damozel lean’d out | |
| From the gold bar of Heaven; | |
| Her eyes were deeper than the depth | |
| Of waters still’d at even; | |
| She had three lilies in her hand, | 5 |
| And the stars in her hair were seven. | |
| |
| Her robe, ungirt from clasp to hem, | |
| No wrought flowers did adorn, | |
| But a white rose of Mary’s gift, | |
| For service meetly worn; | 10 |
| Her hair that lay along her back | |
| Was yellow like ripe corn. | |
| |
| Herseem’d she scarce had been a day | |
| One of God’s choristers; | |
| The wonder was not yet quite gone | 15 |
| From that still look of hers; | |
| Albeit, to them she left, her day | |
| Had counted as ten years. | |
| |
| (To one, it is ten years of years. | |
| … Yet now, and in this place, | 20 |
| Surely she lean’d o’er me—her hair | |
| Fell all about my face…. | |
| Nothing: the autumn-fall of leaves. | |
| The whole year sets apace.) | |
| |
| It was the rampart of God’s house | 25 |
| That she was standing on; | |
| By God built over the sheer depth | |
| The which is Space begun; | |
| So high, that looking downward thence | |
| She scarce could see the sun. | 30 |
| |
| It lies in Heaven, across the flood | |
| Of ether, as a bridge. | |
| Beneath, the tides of day and night | |
| With flame and darkness ridge | |
| The void, as low as where this earth | 35 |
| Spins like a fretful midge. | |
| |
| Around her, lovers, newly met | |
| ’Mid deathless love’s acclaims, | |
| Spoke evermore among themselves | |
| Their heart-remember’d names; | 40 |
| And the souls mounting up to God | |
| Went by her like thin flames. | |
| |
| And still she bow’d herself and stoop’d | |
| Out of the circling charm; | |
| Until her bosom must have made | 45 |
| The bar she lean’d on warm, | |
| And the lilies lay as if asleep | |
| Along her bended arm. | |
| |
| From the fix’d place of Heaven she saw | |
| Time like a pulse shake fierce | 50 |
| Through all the worlds. Her gaze still strove | |
| Within the gulf to pierce | |
| Its path; and now she spoke as when | |
| The stars sang in their spheres. | |
| |
| The sun was gone now; the curl’d moon | 55 |
| Was like a little feather | |
| Fluttering far down the gulf; and now | |
| She spoke through the still weather. | |
| Her voice was like the voice the stars | |
| Had when they sang together. | 60 |
| |
| (Ah sweet! Even now, in that bird’s song, | |
| Strove not her accents there, | |
| Fain to be hearkened? When those bells | |
| Possess’d the mid-day air, | |
| Strove not her steps to reach my side | 65 |
| Down all the echoing stair?) | |
| |
| ‘I wish that he were come to me: | |
| For he will come,’ she said. | |
| ‘Have I not pray’d in Heaven?—on earth, | |
| Lord, Lord, has he not pray’d? | 70 |
| Are not two prayers a perfect strength? | |
| And shall I feel afraid? | |
| |
| ‘When round his head the aureole clings, | |
| And he is clothed in white, | |
| I’ll take his hand and go with him | 75 |
| To the deep wells of light; | |
| As unto a stream we will step down, | |
| And bathe there in God’s sight. | |
| |
| ‘We two will stand beside that shrine, | |
| Occult, withheld, untrod, | 80 |
| Whose lamps are stirred continually | |
| With prayer sent up to God; | |
| And see our old prayers, granted, melt | |
| Each like a little cloud. | |
| |
| ‘We two will lie i’ the shadow of | 85 |
| That living mystic tree, | |
| Within whose secret growth the Dove | |
| Is sometimes felt to be, | |
| While every leaf that His plumes touch | |
| Saith His Name audibly. | 90 |
| |
| ‘And I myself will teach to him, | |
| I myself, lying so, | |
| The songs I sing here; which his voice | |
| Shall pause in, hush’d and slow, | |
| And find some knowledge at each pause, | 95 |
| Or some new thing to know.’ | |
| |
| (Alas! We two, we two, thou say’st! | |
| Yea, one wast thou with me | |
| That once of old. But shall God lift | |
| To endless unity | 100 |
| The soul whose likeness with thy soul | |
| Was but its love for thee?) | |
| |
| ‘We two,’ she said, ‘will seek the groves | |
| Where the lady Mary is, | |
| With her five handmaidens, whose names | 105 |
| Are five sweet symphonies, | |
| Cecily, Gertrude, Magdalen, | |
| Margaret and Rosalys. | |
| |
| ‘Circlewise sit they, with bound locks | |
| And foreheads garlanded; | 110 |
| Into the fine cloth white like flame | |
| Weaving the golden thread, | |
| To fashion the birth-robes for them | |
| Who are just born, being dead. | |
| |
| ‘He shall fear, haply, and be dumb: | 115 |
| Then will I lay my cheek | |
| To his, and tell about our love, | |
| Not once abash’d or weak: | |
| And the dear Mother will approve | |
| My pride, and let me speak. | 120 |
| |
| ‘Herself shall bring us, hand in hand, | |
| To Him round whom all souls | |
| Kneel, the clear-ranged unnumbered heads | |
| Bowed with their aureoles: | |
| And angels meeting us shall sing | 125 |
| To their citherns and citoles. | |
| |
| ‘There will I ask of Christ the Lord | |
| Thus much for him and me:— | |
| Only to live as once on earth | |
| With Love,—only to be, | 130 |
| As then awhile, for ever now | |
| Together, I and he.’ | |
| |
| She gazed and listen’d and then said, | |
| Less sad of speech than mild,— | |
| ‘All this is when he comes.’ She ceased. | 135 |
| The light thrill’d towards her, fill’d | |
| With angels in strong level flight. | |
| Her eyes prayed, and she smiled. | |
| |
| (I saw her smile.) But soon their path | |
| Was vague in distant spheres: | 140 |
| And then she cast her arms along | |
| The golden barriers, | |
| And laid her face between her hands, | |
| And wept. (I heard her tears.) | |
| |
