Classic Poem

A FLIGHT of chaunted love
Fiery and virginal
Makes the hushed temple-space more musical
Than hollow glooms where slow winds nightly move
Light leaves that rise and fall
Upon the song-boughs of clear nightingales,
Whose rapture, blent with lovelier sorrow, wails
Till the night fails.
But how the crystal splendour of this song
Sorrowless soars along
Reaches of Heaven adoring and adored,
Where angels worship, whither men aspire,
Wielding faith's instant sword
'Mid visions fire:
Sorrowless, for that venerable pang,
Set for a glory upon Nazareth,
Turned to a pulse of pure delight, when rang
In universal breath
The salutation over death cast down;
And, above Mary's eyes of love, the crown,
For all her loveliness, proclaimed her Queen,
Regent upon her sorrows, who had been,
Woe once incarnate, as high God in her
Wherefore the pale concen
Of each fair voice found fit to minister
Its music to her ear
Floods with the undertone of darkling fear
This holy House, while infinite content
Urges forgetfulness
Of that which makes the Angel's rapture less,
The passionate countenance
Wherewith the Spirit of this World blasphemes
True loveliness, and gleams
In angry wise 'gainst Michael's fiery glance.
Ah, hasten not to take
Your death of beauty in this tremulous air!
A little linger yet,
Ye voices piercing to the Golden Stair,
A little longer make
Anguish of heart a light thing to forget—
A little longer yet!
She will not weary of your harmonies,
The gracious Mother: for Her memories
Are full of ancient melodies
Sung in the fashion of old Israel
Beside the deep-dug well,
Under deep after glows of purple skies,
Her child upon her breast,
Fronting the shadow-land and solemn West.
Ah, Mother, whom with many names we name
By love of love that cannot light on one
That without shame
Should give Thee as Thou art, nor leave undone
Thy chiefest excellence!
Star of the sea, Star of the Morning, Rose
Mystical, Tower of beauty and defence,
To thee our music flows,
Thou makest music for us to Thy Son.
Ah, when the shadows come
Laden with all contrivances of fear,
Ah, Mary, lead us home
Through fear, through fire,
To where with faithful angels we may hear
Our heart's desire,
The perfect music that the Love of God,
Who this dark way hath trod,
Maketh amid the imperishable choir.