Classic Poem

I

A H, WHAT so mightless as their state,
Enfolded in the all-night's sleep, —
Sleep without dream or date!
Ah, what so mightless as their state?
Yet strange regality they keep,
As on the dim hours sweep.

Ah, what so vacant as their state,
Wherein nor wish nor thought inheres,
Nor charge of small or great!
Ah, what so vacant as their state?
Yet seem they vision-guarding seers
Of the unmeasured years.

Most unappealable those brows,
Those lips, those ears, that never failed
To our warm prayers and vows;
Most unappealable those brows
That kindred sovereignty have hailed,
Yet from our knowledge veiled.

They are no longer of our time,
But to the eldest dead allied,
In mien estranged, sublime.
O God! they are not of our time;
So looked the first of those that died, —
So rapt, so glorified!

II

When in the first great hour of sleep supreme
I saw my Dearest fair and tranquil lie,
Swift ran through all my soul this wonder-cry:
" How hast thou met and vanquished hate extreme! "
For by thy faint white smiling thou didst seem,
Sweet Magnanimity! to half defy,
Half pity, those ill things thou hadst put by,
That are the haunters of our life's dim dream.

Pain, error, grief, and fear — poor shadows all,
I, to thy triumph caught, saw fail and fade.
Yet as some muser, when the embers fall,
The low lamp flickers out, starts up dismayed,
So I awoke, to find me still Time's thrall,
Time's sport, — nor by thy warm safe presence stayed.

III

Thou hadst not slept an hour of that last sleep
When my soul woke to know what it had lost,
And met the shining face of what thou wast,
Whom time can touch no more, nor earth can keep.
Thine eyes with love upfilled, unfathomed deep!
Thine eyes reproachless still! — ah, therefore most
My soul did with reproach itself accost,
And bid mine eyes to ache for grief, not weep.

Thou, grateful-glad of every gladding thing,
Love's least return, and each white truce to care!
For this my soul did lodge the sharpest sting, —
Because thou hadst of these such lenten share.
But thou departedst, unremembering,
A vanisher in griefless light and air.

IV

On the day of earth thy last,
Up my spirit rose aghast,
For there came — a legion throng —
All our days in summer long,
All the days so gently paced,
All the days with favor graced,
All the beauteous days we passed,
Mindless there should come The Last.
All the days, from morn till noon,
With the evening's sweeter boon, —
All for Love's full showing meant,
Yet what part in silence spent!
Lips to speak, — yet most and best
In the heart left unexpressed!
Lips to speak, — such days in fee, —
Now what stores should voiced be!

Still my spirit stood aghast,
For the days, as they drew past,
Strove each one its weight to cast
On that frail and speechless Last!

V

I left the home whence thou before hadst passed.
One moment in the gliding landscape shone
The mornward hill-verge, winter-pale and lone,
Where thou for dreamless sleep thy chamber hast.
Oh, then I saw thee as I saw thee last
(All fair, desiring nought, and envying none),
Save now above thee winter's fleeces strown,
And round thee calm, oblivious earth upcast.

I left the home whence thou hadst passed before.
The swift train on through day and darkness hurled:
But yet thy hill its mournful summit bore
'Mong woods and heights and clouds confused whirled, —
Thy little dome of earth forevermore
Magnetic centre of my shattered world!

VI

Threading a darksome passage all alone,
The taper's flame, by envious current blown,
Crouched low, and eddied round, as in affright,
So challenged by the vast and hostile night,
Then down I held the taper; — swift and fain
Up climbed the lovely flower of light again!

Thou Kindler of the spark of life divine,
Be henceforth the Inverted Torch a sign
That, though the flame beloved thou dost depress,
Thou wilt not speed it into nothingness;
But out of nether gloom wilt reinspire,
And homeward lift the keen empyreal fire!