I heard his hundred pinions clang, Heaven-bells rejoicing rang and rang, Heaven-air was thrilled with subtle scents, Worlds spun upon their rushing cars: He mounted shrieking: Give me light.' Still light was poured on him, more light; Angels, Archangels he outstripped Exultant in exceeding might, And trod the skirts of Cherubim. Still Give me light,' he shrieked; and dipped His thirsty face, and drank a sea, Athirst with thirst it could not slake. I saw him, drunk with knowledge, take For what is knowledge duly weighed ? Yea all the progress he had made Was but to learn that all is small Save love, for love is all in all. I tell you what I dreamed last night: It was not dark, it was not light, Cold dews had drenched my plenteous hair Through clay; you came to seek me there. And 'Do dream of me you ?' you said. My heart was dust that used to leap Το you; I answered half asleep : 'My pillow is damp, my sheets are red, There's a leaden tester to my bed: Find you a warmer playfellow, A warmer pillow for your head, A kinder love to love than mine.' You wrung your hands; while I like lead Crushed downwards through the sodden earth: You smote your hands but not in mirth, And reeled but were not drunk with wine. For all night long I dreamed of you: I woke and prayed against my will, Then slept to dream of you again. At length I rose and knelt and prayed : My words were slow, my tears were few; But through the dark my silence spoke Like thunder. When this morning broke, My face was pinched, my hair was grey, And frozen blood was on the sill Where stifling in my struggle I lay. If now you saw me you would say: Where is the face I used to love? And I would answer: Gone before ; When once the morning star shall rise, Then you shall lift the veil thereof. Look up, rise up: for far above Our palms are grown, our place is set; There we shall meet as once we met And love with old familiar love. UP-HILL. DOES the road wind up-hill all the way? Will the day's journey take the whole long day? From morn to night, my friend. But is there for the night a resting-place? A roof for when the slow dark hours begin. May not the darkness hide it from my face? You cannot miss that inn. Shall I meet other wayfarers at night? Then must I knock, or call when just in sight? They will not keep you standing at that door. |