Classic Poem

Above the absymal undivided deep
A train of glory streaming from afar;
And in the van, to wake the worlds from sleep,
One on whose forehead shines the Morning-Star.

Long-rolling surges of a falling sea,
Smiting the sheer cliffs of an unknown shore;
And by a fanged rock, swaying helplessly
A mast with broken cordage — nothing more.

Three peaks, one loftier, all in virgin white,
Poised high in cloudland when the day is done,
And on the mid-most, far above the night,
The rose-red of the long-departed sun.

A wild girl reeling, helpless, like to fall,
Down a hushed street at dawn in midsummer;
And one who had clean forgot their past and all,
From a lit palace casement pities her.

A young man, only clothed with youth's first bloom,
In mien and form an angel, not in eye;
Hard by, a fell worm crawling from a tomb,
And one, wide-eyed, who cries, " The Enemy! "

A lake of molten fires which swell and surge
And fall in thunders on the burning verge;
And one a queen rapt, with illumined face,
Who doth defy the Goddess of the place.

Eros beneath a red-cupped tree, asleep,
And 'mid the flowers, and thro' the air above,
Fair boys with silver wings who smiling peep
Upon the languid loosened limbs of love.

A darkling gateway, thronged with entering ghosts,
And a grave janitor, who seems to say:
" Woe, woe to youth, to life, which idly boasts;
I am the End, and mine the appointed Way "

A young Faun making music on a reed,
Deep in a leafy dell in Arcady:
Three girl-nymphs fair, in musing thought take heed
Of the strange youth's mysterious melody.

A flare of lamplight in a shameful place
Full of wild revel and unchecked offence,
And in the midst, one fresh scarce-sullied face,
Within her eyes, a dreadful innocence.

A quire of seraphs, chanting row on row,
With lute and viol and high trumpet notes;
And, above all, their soft young eyes aglow —
Child angels, making laud from full clear throats.

Some, on a cliff at dawn, in agony;
Below, a scaly horror on the sea,
Lashing the leaden surge. Fast-bound, a maid
Waits on the verge, alone, but unafraid.

A poisonous, dead, sad sea-marsh, fringed with pine,
Scarce lit by mouldering churches, old as Time;
Beyond, on high, just touched with wintry rime,
The long chain of the autumnal Apennine

A god-like Presence, beautiful as Dawn,
Watching, on some untrodden summit white,
The Earth's last day grow full, and fade in night;
Then, with a sigh, the Presence is withdrawn

A sheer rock-islet, frowning on the sea
Where no ship sails, nor ever life may be:
Thousands of leagues around, from pole to pole,
The unbounded lonely ocean-currents roll.

Young maids who wander on a flower-lit lawn,
In springtide of their lives as of the year;
Meanwhile, unnoticed, swift, a thing of fear,
Across the sun, a deadly shadow drawn.

Slow, hopeless, overborne, without a word,
Two issuing, as if from Paradise;
Behind them, stern, and with unpitying eyes,
Their former selves, wielding a two-edged sword.

A weary woman tricked with gold and gem,
Bearing some strange barbaric diadem,
Scorn on her lips, and, like a hidden fire,
Within her eyes cruel unslaked desire.

Two aged figures, poor, and blurred with tears;
Their child, a bold proud woman, sweeping by;
A hard cold face, which pities not nor fears,
And all contempt and evil in her eye

Around a harpsichord, a blue-eyed throng
Of long-dead children, rapt in sounds devout,
In some old grange, while on that silent song
The sabbath twilight fades, and stars come out.

Hidden in a trackless and primaeval wood,
Long-buried temples of an unknown race,
And one colossal idol; on its face
A changeless sneer, blighting the solitude

The end of things created; Dreadful night,
Advancing swift on sky, and earth, and sea;
But at the zenith a departing light,
A soaring countless blessed company!