A Midsummer Holiday and Other Poems | Page 7

yore,?Who bids him be no more:?And all earth's heart is quickened as the sea's,
Even as when sunrise burns?The very sea's heart yearns?That heard not on the midnight-walking breeze?The wail that woke with evensong?From hearts of poor folk watching all the darkness long.
XIV.
Dawn and the beams of sunbright song illume?Love, with strange children at her piteous breast,?By grace of weakness from the grave-mouthed gloom?Plucked, and by mercy lulled to living rest,?Soft as the nursling's nigh the grandsire's tomb?That fell on sleep, a bird of rifled nest;?Soft as the lips whose smile unsaid the doom?That gave their sire to violent death's arrest.
Even for such love's sake strong,?Wrath fires the inveterate song?That bids hell gape for one whose bland mouth blest
All slayers and liars that sighed?Prayer as they slew and lied?Till blood had clothed his priesthood as a vest,?And hears, though darkness yet be dumb,?The silence of the trumpet of the wrath to come.
XV.
Nor lacked these lights of constellated age?A star among them fed with life more dire,?Lit with his bloodied fame, whose withering rage?Made earth for heaven's sake one funereal pyre?And life in faith's name one appointed stage?For death to purge the souls of men with fire.?Heaven, earth, and hell on one thrice tragic page?Mixed all their light and darkness: one man's lyre
Gave all their echoes voice;?Bade rose-cheeked love rejoice,?And cold-lipped craft with ravenous fear conspire,
And fire-eyed faith smite hope?Dead, seeing enthroned as Pope?And crowned of heaven on earth at hell's desire?Sin, called by death's incestuous name?Borgia: the world that heard it flushed and quailed with shame.
XVI.
Another year, and hope triumphant heard?The consummating sound of song that spake?Conclusion to the multitudinous word?Whose expectation held her spirit awake?Till full delight for twice twelve years deferred?Bade all souls entering eat and drink, and take?A third time comfort given them, that the third?Might heap the measure up of twain, and make
The sinking year sublime?Among all sons of time?And fan in all men's memories for his sake.
Each thought of ours became?Fire, kindling from his flame,?And music widening in his wide song's wake.?Yea, and the world bore witness here?How great a light was risen upon this darkening year.
XVII.
It was the dawn of winter: sword in sheath,?Change, veiled and mild, came down the gradual air?With cold slow smiles that hid the doom beneath.?Five days to die in yet were autumn's, ere?The last leaf withered from his flowerless wreath.?South, east, and north, our skies were all blown bare,?But westward over glimmering holt and heath?Cloud, wind, and light had made a heaven more fair
Than ever dream or truth?Showed earth in time's keen youth?When men with angels communed unaware.
Above the sun's head, now?Veiled even to the ardent brow,?Rose two sheer wings of sundering cloud, that were?As a bird's poised for vehement flight,?Full-fledged with plumes of tawny fire and hoar grey light.
XVIII.
As midnight black, as twilight brown, they spread,?But feathered thick with flame that streaked and lined?Their living darkness, ominous else of dread,?From south to northmost verge of heaven inclined?Most like some giant angel's, whose bent head?Bowed earthward, as with message for mankind?Of doom or benediction to be shed?From passage of his presence. Far behind,
Even while they seemed to close,?Stoop, and take flight, arose?Above them, higher than heavenliest thought may find
In light or night supreme?Of vision or of dream,?Immeasurable of men's eyes or mounting mind,?Heaven, manifest in manifold?Light of pure pallid amber, cheered with fire of gold.
XIX.
And where the fine gold faded all the sky?Shone green as the outer sea when April glows,?Inlaid with flakes and feathers fledged to fly?Of cloud suspense in rapture and repose,?With large live petals, broad as love bids lie?Full open when the sun salutes the rose,?And small rent sprays wherewith the heavens most high?Were strewn as autumn strews the garden-close
With ruinous roseleaves whirled?About their wan chill world,?Through wind-worn bowers that now no music knows,
Spoil of the dim dusk year?Whose utter night is near,?And near the flower of dawn beyond it blows;?Till east and west were fire and light,?As though the dawn to come had flushed the coming night.
XX.
The highways paced of men that toil or play,?The byways known of none but lonely feet,?Were paven of purple woven of night and day?With hands that met as hands of friends might meet--?As though night's were not lifted up to slay?And day's had waxed not weaker. Peace more sweet?Than music, light more soft than shadow, lay?On downs and moorlands wan with day's defeat,
That watched afar above?Life's very rose of love?Let all its lustrous leaves fall, fade, and fleet,
And fill all heaven and earth?Full as with fires of birth?Whence time should feed his years with light and heat:?Nay, not life's, but a flower more strong?Than life or time or death, love's very rose of song.
XXI.
Song visible, whence all men's eyes were lit?With love and loving wonder: song that glowed?Through cloud and change on souls that knew not it?And hearts that wist