By Still Waters | Page 2

This vision give, no heaven afar,
No throne, and yet I will rejoice,

Knowing beneath my feet a star,
Thy word in every wandering voice.
DUSK
Dusk wraps the village in its dim caress;
Each chimney's vapour, like
a thin grey rod,
Mounting aloft through miles of quietness,

Pillars the skies of God.
Far up they break or seem to break their line,
Mingling their nebulous
crests that bow and nod
Under the light of those fierce stars that shine
Out of the calm of God.
Only in clouds and dreams I felt those souls
In the abyss, each fire
hid in its clod,
From which in clouds and dreams the spirit rolls
Into the vast of God.
NIGHT
Heart-hidden from the outer things I rose;
The spirit woke anew in
nightly birth
Unto the vastness where forever glows
The star-soul of the earth.
There all alone in primal ecstasy,
Within her depths where revels
never tire,
The Olden Beauty shines: each thought of me
Is veined through with its fire.
And all my thoughts are throngs of living souls;
They breathe in me,
heart unto heart allied;
Their joy undimmed, though when the
morning tolls
The planets may divide.
DAWN
Still as the holy of holies breathes the vast
Within its crystal depths
the stars grow dim;
Fire on the altar of the hills at last
Burns on the shadowy rim.

Moments that holds all moments; white upon
The verge it trembles;
then like mists of flowers
Break from the fairy fountain of the dawn
The hues of many hours.
Thrown downward from that high companionship
Of dreaming
inmost heart with inmost heart,
Into the common daily ways I slip,
My fire from theirs apart.
DAY
In day from some titanic past it seems
As if a thread divine of
memory runs;
Born ere the Mighty One began his dreams,
Or yet were stars and suns.
But here an iron will has fixed the bars;
Forgetfulness falls on earth's
myriad races:
No image of the proud and morning stars
Looks at us from their faces.
Yet yearning still to reach to those dim heights,
Each dream
remembered is a burning-glass,
Where through to darkness from the
Light of Lights
Its rays in splendour pass.
DANA
I am the tender voice calling 'Away,'
Whispering between the
beatings of the heart,
And inaccessible in dewy eyes
I dwell, and all
unkissed on lovely lips,
Lingering between white breasts inviolate,

And fleeting ever from the passionate touch,
I shine afar, till men
may not divine
Whether it is the stars or the beloved
They follow
with wrapt spirit. And I weave
My spells at evening, folding with dim

caress,
Aerial arms and twilight dropping hair,
The lonely wanderer
by wood or shore,
Till, filled with some deep tenderness, he yields,

Feeling in dreams for the dear mother heart
He knew, ere he forsook
the starry way,
And clings there, pillowed far above the smoke
And
the dim murmur from the duns of men.
I can enchant the trees and
rocks, and fill
The dumb brown lips of earth with mystery,
Make
them reveal or hide the god. I breathe
A deeper pity than all love,
myself
Mother of all, but without hands to heal:
Too vast and vague,
they know me not. But yet
I am the heartbreak over fallen things,

The sudden gentleness that stays the blow,
And I am in the kiss that
foemen give
Pausing in battle, and in the tears that fall
Over the
vanquished foe, and in the highest;
Among the Danaan gods, I am the
last
Council of mercy in their hearts where they
Mete justice from a
thousand starry thrones.
REMEMBRANCE
There were many burning hours on the heart-sweet tide,
And we
passed away from ourselves, forgetting all
The immortal moods that
faded, the god who died,
Hastening away to the King on a distant
call.
There were ruby dews were shed when the heart was riven, And
passionate pleading and prayers to the dead we had wronged; And we
passed away unremembering and unforgiven,
Hastening away to the
King for the peace we longed.
Love unremembered and heart-ache we left behind,
We forsook them,
unheeding, hastening away in our flight; We knew the hearts we had
wronged of old we would find
When we came to the fold of the King
for rest in the night.
THE HOUR OF THE KING
Who would think this quiet breather
From the world had taken flight?


Yet within the form we see there
Wakes the golden King to-night.
Out upon the face of faces
He looked forth before his sleep:
Now he
knows the starry races
Haunters of the ancient deep;
On the Bird of Diamond Glory
Floats in mystic floods of song:
As
he lists Time's triple story
Seems but as a day is long.
From the mightier Adam falling
To his image dwarfed in clay,
He
will at our voices calling
Come to this side of the day.
When he wakes, the dreamy-hearted,
He will know not whence he
came,
And the light from which he parted
Be the seraph's sword of
flame,
And behind it hosts supernal
Guarding the lost paradise,
And the
tree of life eternal
From the weeping human eyes.
THE WINDS OF ANGUS
The grey