III

O Ghostly dawn, that whitenest now The chilly-breathing earth, This face of life why liftest thou, If death be brought to birth? Can there be any death to live, Or any life to die, Unknown to me, that thou canst give To put my darkness by? Pale mother, from between thy feet Cometh a still-born day, Where life and I can never meet Till light be put away.

Pale stranger, with the uplifted face That seals its looks at me, Come you to fill the empty place Where love was wont to be? In your dull heart without alarms If any love abide, Reach up and take me in your arms And draw me to your side! Or else, by what deep purpose stayed, To what diviner end, Grows this defeat, where fate hath made A stranger of my friend? For I am like a withered brook Which water runs not through, Since Death hath laid a dear rebuke On all my thoughts of you.

Now round you spreads and flows a rest From which no word can come. Whom have you there for secret guest, Now that your lips are dumb? Death holds the heart that used to beat For me; he holds your breath; He has you fast from face to feet. Ah, would that I were death!

Why dream for you, dear vanished friend, The peace on earth denied, Since life, to gain a broken end, Has torn you from my side? The ramparts of the house of Death Love cannot pierce or scale, To tell with what a thirst for breath The silent captives ail. In that fixed prison-house of form, All locked and barred about, Perchance your living will is warm And battles to be out!

The Soul bereaved, the Flesh defiled, Made strife with Love, and said, “Lord, is not mine the living child? And is not hers the dead?” And while with piteous plea the two At hard contention warred, To search the holier anguish through Up glanced the dreadful sword. Then the sad Flesh, the far-defiled, Caught at Love’s Feet, and said, “Give her, give her the living child! And give me back the dead!” “Believest thou the dead can rise? O Flesh, behold thy son!"— Love spake: and to her opening eyes Living and dead were one!

Out of the heart of night a hand Of darkness touched my side: Light of my life, I saw you stand, And dreamed you had not died. “Oh, you look weary, you look old, And heavy hangs your head: Come from the night and from the cold, And creep into my bed!” The Fates that leagued against us still Had fallen apart in fear, When warm to all my weary will I thought to draw you near: But my quick soul, to love denied, Smote on its doors in pain: “Go back awhile, Beloved,” it cried, “And die, and come again!”

So much strong weakness holds me bound I scarce may lift a hand: Now being come to holy ground I have not strength to stand. For the dear loss to which I cling So shadows all the past, That life would seem too bare a thing Could I look up at last. O Lord of Light, Who fashionest form, Grant me no quickening sight! Make not the wants within me warm, But bid me look on night.

Send forth Thy winds, O God, to blow The fever from my brain; Let all Thy rains and rivers flow To wash away my stain! And when of all its thousand ills My body is set free, Then in Thy mercy bid the hills Bow down and cover me. And smother out this vital spark That binds me in Thy sight: Give darkness, that it may be dark, And heal my eyes of light!

Ghosts of sweet wants, ye touch and leave An unresponsive breast! Hearing you knock and go, I grieve, But cannot give you rest. Ye, while on earth the spring goes round, Dear wants, can never die. Now all my spring is underground, Therefore no wants have I! Oh, fare ye well, and sup at life, And find a better bed! Here living is a weary strife When all its wants are dead.

Whenever blows a passing gust, I think your ghost goes by; Wailing it sifts away the dust Wherein I long to lie. Oh, shadow of my missing mate, Now pass, and give me rest! Your ghostly pity comes too late To drive me from your breast.

Is living still my debt to thee Through whom all joy lies dead? Have you no welcome yet for me In your most quiet bed? Alas, now you have come to rest; And I have come to grief! Your love is harder than I guessed To grudge me that relief.

O Lord of love, Who holdest light, Hear Thou the darkened speech; Behold the eyes that know not sight The hands that vainly reach. Thou knowest all; Thou wilt not grieve If in the ways of grief I speak amiss. Lord, I believe; Help thou mine unbelief! For as the east is from the west, And from the north the south, So from the sorrow of his breast The utterance of man’s mouth.

Here name and date are worn away, Yet stiff upon its shelf The stony mummer all the day Lies praying to himself. O stone, thou mockest God with prayer, So praying without end, If he, whose dust became thy care, Hath found in God his friend! O stone, since other needs pass by, Let my need nearer be: Still lift to heaven the sightless eye Of faith, and pray for me!

Me did self-love or love most move, Strong will or weak desire? Or was love laid on me to prove How ice may vanquish fire? Nay, still my heart cannot undo, My lips cannot unsay, That bitter need I had of you, And could not put away! But life from death strange virtue draws; And, knit with new desire, Still the love lives in me, though thaws The ice, though faints the fire. For life which out of good or ill Besought one kindred boon, Here, on death’s wave, how clear and still The waters wash the moon!

Though thou art changed, thou bearest whole My love through all thy change: Thou canst not shake me from thy soul Wherever thou dost range. So thou from change to change must mount, And still in mind of me Shalt come toward the living Fount Of immortality. Then from thy face, whom God makes free To touch the eternal years, Those waters in a mystery Shall wash away my tears.

Oh! strange, ’mid severance of love New love compelling grows! Whose Face is this that bends above? Whose wounded Hands are those? Fair Father Christ, I cannot tell When else on earth we met: A dearer love that loved me well Hath hold upon me yet. But if Thou lov’st the face I love, Whose likeness dwells in me, I will but keep one love above The love I’ll have for Thee!

Let not the love you learned on earth Slip ever from your heart: Into your new celestial birth Let old love bear a part! So pray, that, though I fall and fall, And though God’s mercy fail, And though the Saints stay silent all, Your prayer shall yet prevail!

Where my word fails thy word amends, With Paradisal speech: Thy prayer goes up to further ends Than I have thought to reach. Till, past all speech, where fails thy prayer ’Mid sights thou canst not read, Some other, on the ascending stair Strains out fresh hands to plead. But I, left conscious of my sin, Wait on, and watch, and wear, To know when word of me shall win The slow-ascending stair: And cry, “Have seven times seven sufficed To bridge the gulfs that part?"— When suddenly the Hand of Christ Has knocked against my heart!

Out of the earth that holds you bound All spring comes back to me; The honeyed world awakes at sound Of life the quickening bee. So from the eater comes forth meat, And sweetness from the strong: And honey from beneath my feet Where you to earth belong. O love, to you I bend and pray, Who seeing yet am blind, Because I cannot put away A dead face out of mind. Through the dull mould of my desire I search with hands that grope, ’Mid ashes of a buried fire, For love, or faith, or hope.

Lest here I perish without end, Having no wit to see,— O ghost of all dead springs, O friend Of love, arise in me!

Spring comes with silent rush of leaf Across the earth and cries, “Lo, Love is risen!” But doubting Grief Returns, “If with mine eyes “I may not see the marks, nor reach My hand into His side, I will not hear your lips that preach Love raised and glorified. “Except by all the wounds that brake His heart, and marred His brow Most grievously for sorrow’s sake, How shall I know Him now?” Love came, and said, “Reach hither, Grief, Thy hand into My side: Oh, slow of heart to win belief, Seeing that for grief I died.

“Lo, all the griefs of which I died Rise with Me from the dead!” Then Grief drew near, and touched the side, And touched the wounds that bled, And cried, “My God, O blessed sign, O Body raised, made whole, By this I know that Thou art mine, Upholder of my soul!”

The Earth her troubled seasons brings; Low at Love’s feet she lays The broken promise of her springs, Her tarnished summer days; And says of all, “Not here the gift: But out of all of these Draw Thou, for one too weak to lift, An offering to Thy knees! “And gather out of all the storms That flew to find them rest, The loves that in a hundred forms Have strained toward Thy breast!”

As by the motion of her arc The moon draws up the sea, So, through the sense-defeating dark Love’s hold is laid on me; Till, in the strife of hearts that yearn A hidden goal to gain, I touch the keys of life, and learn The mysteries of pain; And find one law uplifted chief All other laws above, That Earth cannot contain its grief, Nor Heaven contain its love. There, where Love’s moon unveils her snow On Paradisal trees, Deep at her inmost heart must go The beat of far-off seas.

And led through hands of death or birth To live again or die, Gathered from all the griefs of earth All loves as kindred lie. So, clear of sight from this far place I can lift eyes above And see you looking in God’s Face, O face I used to love!