UPWARD all day we toiled athwart the rain,
Henry and I, through Alpine pastures green
And great firwoods that overhung the vale
Far spread below; but ever, as evening fell,
Day's cloudy curtain parted, and the mists
Thinned more and more, and fled among the hills,
Or dropped beneath, or clung in silver threads
To tresses of dim forest; and we saw
A clear blue arch of space spanned high above,
And, burning behind the utmost mountain edge,
Gold altar-glories of the stricken sun.
And high amid the snows we found a crag,
Hung darkly on that argent slope, within
Stamped hollow as by rage of Titan foot;
And there we lit the flame, and made ourselves
Good cheer, while round us dreamed a silent world.
But ere we slept, he, my beloved, arose
And lightly left our firelit cave and stood
Night-circled on a jutting rock beyond;
And with the setting stars about his head
And at his feet that purple vale profound,
He sang the song he sings me evermore.
He sang to watchful heaven and weary earth,
To glittering peak and star and crescent moon,
And high Love, and the loveworn Heart of all.
And all the vales were filled with melody,
And o'er the wide wide night and clear profound,
And over the blank snows and barren crags,
His song came floating back unto his feet:
Unto his feet, and deep into my heart,
There as I lay by the fire and saw him stand,
Saw him there in the night, and see him now,
Now, and for ever.
At morning dawn, when earth was dashed with light,
Beside the golden summit he slipped and fell,
And slid, and passed to his own home beyond.
THE VEILED ISIS, OR THE NATURE
WORSHIPPER.
Ἐγὼ εἰμὶ πᾶν τὸ γεγονὸς καὶ ὂν κα ἐσόμενον καὶ
τὸν ἐμὸν πέπλον οὐδείς πω θνητὸς ἀπεκάλυψε.
Now know I that the white-winged hours of heaven
'Twixt me and thee in endless retinue,
Each after each, shall pass; nor ever pause
To lift the least light corner of thy veil,
Or grant thine eyes to mine. O hidden One,
Supreme-set Mother of all mystery,
And myriad-named of men, now know I well
Thou dost endure us but a moment's span
Upon thy heaving bosom, to behold
The wonder of thy movement, at thy grace
To fall and worship-ay, we know not what!
And then, or ever thou hast heard, to fall
And pass, remembering ourselves and thee
No more.
O strange, O unassailable,
Thou that with myriad bright play of eyes
Provokest our desire, thy seamless robe,
Set close about for our bewilderment,
Folds thee in perfect proof. For I have toiled
And tarried long by thy familiar ways,
Have known thee going out and coming in,
And watched thy daily wont; have felt the flame
Flash from thy face almost to scathe mine eyes,
And heard at night thy breath about my ears
Beat, and pass quickly by; yea, I have tracked
Thy fingers in and out through woven clouds,
And passionless ebb and flow of waves and streams,
And rockings of the air, only to know
The weft is woven without any flaw
From flight of stars to atoms: rent is none,
No gap, no visionary gleam, and Thou
Therefore now, once more,
I see the Spring descend upon the Earth—
The new life quivering upwards into light;
I see the plaited green on plant and tree
Slide from the soil and break the knotted bark;
The grey elm quickens with a strange delight;
The golden chestnut-buds against the blue
Gleam like a thousand lamps; and melody
Thrills through the woodland air. O now once more
The primal splendour of the sun returns
With a most welcome triumph. Thorn and may
Stand white with bridal blossom unto him;
The ground is cloven, and the sleeping flowers
Have heard and known their lord: through wood and dell
Yellow primroses leap and peer to heaven-
He rideth by begirt with azure wings-
And bloom and beauty multitudinous
Break on his path. The violet stands by
Glad in her grassy covert. In the meads
Like angel hosts white daisies wave their wings,
And as he passes bend like one and rise,
And, while he fires with light the Western lands,
Close their bright eyes and blush for very joy.
Once more o'er vale and mountain do I hear
The voice of Spring's sweet trouble: nightingales
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