I EARTH

GLORY—glory to God in the highest—and on earth, Glory! The everlasting sun Has laid his hand upon the harp-string, with the music of his mirth Heaven and ocean are one chord, in unison. He has spoken—he has spoken—from his midmost throne In the blue hollow of noon he has spoken! Heaven has heard The sound of the song of his shining; he has made known To listening Space his wonder, and revealed his word— Who sheds his light upon the earth, and upon the dark place, Light! And upon the waters of the sea, Light! O Father, pour down thy light upon me—touch my face! Hallow me, my Father—even me. Here, where the long ranges of the dunes roll Their tawny billows to the south and to the north, and against the sky Flutters the pale sea-grass, fresh is the wind—and the whole Clear hollow of heaven is full of the wine of thy glory, even as I. The waves curve upward—they fail—they fall— Dragging, dragging, along the dim sea-reach, The heavy hem of the garment of the waters; rhythmical, rhythmical Is the rustle of the sea’s robe upon the beach. Along the shallows, along the far shore-line They burst in thunder and light—where the gray shingles gleam, The tongue of the foam is a tongue of fire: the hollows of the breakers shine, Darken—and are shattered as a dream. But out where the further waters have their sleep, On the pale meadows of ocean, on the barren fields and bare, That the sea-bird wanders, that the sea-wind wanders—on the illimitable Deep, Silence. The silence of the immensity is like a prayer. Interminable—interminable—interminable—the void sea— The many ways, the many waves. In the huge round Of the sorrowful heavens, in the hushed vacancy, No voice.... Vastness without bound. This is my heart’s country. These lonely lands Are one with my wild, lonely heart; these winds and waves that roam Old, desolate ways forever—they are one with me—these sterile sands And bitter waters. Here is my heart’s home. Amid these large horizons and spaces that she loves, My spirit’s thought, on lorn adventurings And inconsolable quests intent, endlessly moves— And spreads upon the eternal solitude her fleeting wings: Even as a sea-bird on the changeless, changing, Pale pastures lost, as a sea-bird on the wild waste astray, Searching the everlasting reaches—failing—faltering—like a sea-bird ranging— Wandering, wandering the wide way.

Loneliness—loneliness forever. Dune beyond dune, Stretches the infinite loneliness—pale sand and pale sea-grass, Pale beaches, mile upon mile. In the immensity of noon A hawk moves upon the wind. Clouds darken, and pass.... The sound of the breathing of the sea is hushed, on the far shore Her robe lies fallen; the white waves, one by one, Subside into slumber, and cease into slumber: from the blue vault to the blue floor Heaven is a shining room filled full of the sun. He hallows the waters. The benediction of his light is shed Upon the proud waters. Emerald—turquoise—chrysoprase— Glitter the waters! The garment of his glory is spread Upon the everlasting waters, upon the everlasting ways.

HEAVEN is full of stars to-night, the earth Lies hushed, as she shall lie some day perhaps, When life and death no longer trouble her— No voice, no cry in the whole countryside. The empty road rambles through field and thicket, And in the road are prints of hoof and foot. Along the surface of this lonely planet, Now naked to the hunger of the stars, Man and beast—on the old pilgrimage— They passed together here, not long ago. What was it they were looking for I wonder, Or if, themselves, they knew? Where were they going? Footsteps—always footsteps going somewhere— What country is it that they all are seeking, Who up and down the world, by night or day, Move with such patience, always to one end? Not the least sound. Not the least leaf disturbs The immemorial majesty of heaven. Footprints—only footprints going somewhere.... Wherever they were going, they are gone.

IN the immense cathedral of the holy earth, Whose arches are the heavens and the great vault above, Groined with its myriad stars—what miracles of birth, What sacraments of death, what rituals of love! Her nave is the wide world and the whole length of it, One flame on all her altars kindles her many fires; Wherever the clear tapers of trembling life are lit Resound for joy the old, indomitable choirs. The holy church of earth with clamorous worshippers Is crowded and fierce hungers, faithful every one To the one faith; that stern and simple faith of hers Contents the heart that asks no pity, giving none. Each on the other feeds, and all on each are fed, And each for all is offered—a living offering, where In agony and triumph the ancient feast is spread, Life’s sacramental supper, that all her sons may share. They mingle with one another, blend—mingle—merge, and flow Body into wild body; in rapture endlessly Weaving, with intricate motions of being, to and fro, The pattern of all Being, one mighty harmony: One Body of all bodies woven and interwrought— One Self in many selves, through their communion In love and death, made perfect; wherein each self is nought Save as it serve the many, mysteriously made One. And all are glad for life’s sake, and all have found it good From the beginning; all, through many and warring ways, In savage vigor of life and wanton hardihood Live out, like a brave song, the passion of their days. With music woven of lust and music woven of pain, Chapel and aisle and choir, the great cathedral rings— One voice in all her voices chaunting the old disdain Of pity, the clean hunger of all primal things. From the trembling of Arcturus even to the tiny nest Of the grey mouse the glories of her vast frame extend: The span of her great arches, stretching from east to west, Is endless—the immense reaches are without end.

Evening closes. The light from heaven’s high window falls Vaguer and softer now. In vain the twilight pleads With stubborn night, his shadow looms on the massive walls— Darkness. The immemorial ritual proceeds. The spider in her quivering web watches and waits; The moth flutters entangled, in agony of fear He beats amid the toils that bind him; she hesitates Along the trembling wires—she pauses—she draws near. She weaves her delicate bondage around him; in the net, As in a shroud, he labors—but, labor as he will, The cunning threads hold fast; her drowsy mouth is set Against the body that shivers softly, and is still. And through the leafy dark the owl with noiseless flight Moves, peering craftily among the tangled trees And thickets of the wood all slumbrous in the night— The fledgling’s bitter cry comes sharp upon the breeze. With dreadful ceremony all things together move To the one end: shrill voices in triumph all around Prolong deliriously their monotone of love— Arches and aisles are heavy with incense and dim sound. Hush—the whole world is kneeling! Murmurous is the air— The Host is lifted up. Upon the altar lies The sacramental Body. The wind breathes like a prayer— Solemnly is renewed the eternal sacrifice. With mingled moan and might of warring wills made one The vast cathedral shudders. From chancel, nave and choir Sounds the fierce hymn to life: her holy will be done! Upon her myriad altars flames the one sacred fire.

UNSEARCHABLE is the Imagination That stretches out the heavens, and around The shores of earth widens, in exultation, The infinite waters without bourn or bound. Between the immensities of heaven and ocean My spirit’s thought makes forward falteringly, Lone as a sea-bird that with veering motion Moves on the windy meadows of the sea. Far though she fare, far though her flight aspire— However far—it shall but be to find New wastes beyond, new ways for the desire Of the unfathomable and spacious Mind. In the vast reaches of His meditation— The sorrowful distances—her stricken wings Flag, failing her; my heart’s imagination Faints, in the lonely endlessness of things.

HERE in my curving hands I cup This quiet dust—I lift them up. Here is the mother of all thought, Of this the shining heavens are wrought, The laughing lips, the feet that rove, The face, the body that you love: Mere dust, no more—yet nothing less; And this has suffered consciousness, Passion and terror; this again Shall suffer passion, death, and pain. For, as all flesh must die, so all, Now dust, shall live. ’Tis natural; Yet hardly do I understand— Here in the hollow of my hand A bit of God Himself I keep, Between two vigils fallen asleep.

IMMORTAL Beauty in this mortal heart, Lone Beauty dwelling in these hearts that die, How shall it be with me when you are gone, Leaving me broken in the darkness here! Where shall I seek you in that hour when Time Roars in my ears, and the Reality, At whose dear breast my mouth of being clung, Recedes, refusing me? Then shall I hear The sound of some irrevocable thing Slowly withdrawn—shouts and reverberations, Echoes and murmurs of the sea of life Ebbing forever from the fading brain— And my last thought run on, crying, to you. But you—O darling and indifferent— Amid the multitudinous minds of men Shall live forever, lonely as before.

TO what dark purpose was the Will employed That fashioned, ere the dawn of Time grew dim, The waste of ocean—from clear rim to rim A crystal chamber, sorrowful and void? For, surely, not without design He wrought These vast horizons on whose margins rest The extremes of heaven, nor from east to west Widened the waters to the bounds of thought. Half-hopeful, half-incredulous, I wait For some gigantic Presence to assume His throne in the large circle of the room. The dreadful distances are desolate. In vain! In vain! He is departed hence Whose breath troubles the waters of the sea: Twilight and night are sworn to secrecy, The heavens preserve their ancient innocence. In the enormous throne-room of the sun No voice is audible. The waves are mute. Solitude, infinite and absolute, Bears witness to the unreturning One. Evening, on the lorn reaches of the sea, Comes vast and patient; but the night is kind— Her hand is pity, scarfing up the blind Sorrows and wastes of the immensity. The wind is soft among the swaying spars. Heaven deepens; dusk reveals the glittering height And cloudless glory of the arch of night, Bowed down from rim to rim with solemn stars. When dawn across the broad and billowing plain Casts her pale fire, the monstrous solitude Of huddling waters—the old hope renewed— Thrills with blind love and yearns, but all in vain. Sheer to the east, sheer to the west extend, Far as the wandering wings of thought may grope, The eternal vacancies. No hope, no hope— Distance, distance forever, without end. Hour by hour and day on burning day, Our vessel plows the soft, reluctant foam; Hour by hour and mile on mile, we roam The lonely and the everlasting way. Still fades before us the enormous round— Blue sea below, blue heaven overhead— The Void, eternal and untenanted, A chamber for His splendor, without bound.

NIGHT—and the shadow of great walls. The city sleeps, her muffled pulses start— And ebb, flagging in the long intervals. I lie alone, with wakeful heart. In stone and iron bound, Brood the old sorrows; avenue and street Are hushed—no sob, no sound of feet. My heart listens. Not a sound. My heart listens. A cry Pierces the dark—a lonely voice somewhere Trembles, and is still. I hear a cry Out of the dark, somewhere. Night slumbers on.... The cañons are Empty—no echo save For a lone car Far-off, that rumbles and is gone. Then silence—the silence of the grave.

O THAT I might be again In the leafy solitudes Where the ancient beauty broods And the heart is healed of pain! In a certain hidden place Shined-on by the evening-star, Where the woods and waters are Dear as a belovèd face. ’Tis a country to my mind: All the hills and heights are green, With clear meadows in between— All the woods and ways are kind. There the spider all day long Spins her web with cunning skill, And the cricket on the hill Makes one music of his song. Night and day a dreamy noise Hovers ’round it—night and day, And the world is far away, And the silence has a voice. In the lowlands, in the deep Solitude for miles around, To a hushed and happy sound Time itself has fallen asleep. O that I were there again, By the meadows drenched with dew! Where the ancient dream comes true, And the heart is healed of pain.

A YEAR, with all its days, has come and gone Since last under the arch of heaven I stood In the old ecstasy, and looked upon These endless waters, this bleak solitude. All is unchanged: the sea-birds wheel and pass, The patient dunes go down along the sky In wavering lines of green, from the scant grass A single cricket lifts his solemn cry. Autumn is on the wind; the chilly air Is wide and vacant, the pale waters seem Paler and lonelier—lonely and bare, The tawny beaches, fading like a dream. On the right hand of heaven there is light— And on the left is darkness and the gray Cover of cloud; southward the sea is bright— But northward sorrow and shadow all the way. Dull blues and purples, glossy black and green, On the one hand—and on the other, sheer Glory of gold! The waters in between Are doubtful—half in hope, and half in fear. But always a cold light along the rim Wells secretly, the under-heavens cast Cold light along the verge under the dim Borders of darkness where the clouds are massed. Around one center the slow bulk revolves; Far out, a haze curtains the mystery Of some ecstatic deed—the cloud dissolves And sheds his drifting rain upon the sea. It is the bridal of heaven and ocean—brief Is the rapt moment ere the gauzy veil, Crumbling, is lifted. As with tremulous grief Of parting, the divided wastes are pale. Wan wastes of wave, and glimmering wastes that crowd The worn horizon—passion and regret. Sea-scud, and faltering light, and trailing cloud Reluctant, where the old longing labors yet. The slant rain slackens. From the hopeful, blue Meadows of heaven, widening evermore, A sudden shaft of light comes piercing through, And points a shining finger down the shore. Alternate gleam and shadow! Like a wand The running radiance all along the line Travels with soundless motion. Far beyond, Headlands and dunes and brightening beaches shine. Darkness is rolled away: the great banks move Northward, save for a few high streaks that show The vault of heaven still higher far above— So high they seem, yet lie so far below. They move like swans upon an azure lake— The bleak skies of the autumn afternoon Wash ’round them in chill loveliness and make Their fleecy edges brighter, fading soon. The room of the world is bare from bound to bound, A vacant chamber—heaven overhead Is a blue ceiling, the heavens that wall it ’round Are blue, before me the blue floors are spread. Blue mile on mile, from deep to azure height Eastward, the everlasting arches loom! Blue mile on mile forever to the bright Limits! The world is like an empty room. On the void sea no sail, no sign. Far out, A lone bird, through the shifting corridors Of billowing water blown and tossed about, Wavers and veers along the windy floors. Loneliness—endlessness—and mystery! No voice disturbs the silence of the sun. No shadow is on the surface of the sea. The clouds are scattered and darkness is undone. The huddled waters in their sorrow move At the wind’s will that herds them without stay Over the barren reaches, drove on drove— A myriad waves all moving the one way.

EVENING—and shadows lengthening to the east, Cold light along the rim; and our Father, the sun, Gone westward in a glory of trailing cloud. O holy Father of us all— Praise him, earth, with all your voices! Praise him, wind and sea! For though he forsake you, surely he shall return. Hail, Father, and well done—for now it is ended! The earth, my mother, praises— And I praise you, Who am, by her, your true-born child.

I HAVE come back at last to the old home, After long days of absence. It was here That in my burning youth I loved and sang, And all that I have loved and lost is here; And still the meadows and the woods are dear And beautiful—though now to me they are Less beautiful, less dear. Earth and her dreams remain forever young, It is not beauty that grows old, but I: The moon floods the pale cloud, and from the grass The cricket sounds the endless song—but I Am silent. Listen!—it is the owlet’s cry. O heart of mine, what distance have we come Since last we heard that cry!

Earth and the ancient joy are ever young— When has she changed, for all her many days? The cloudy banners of her hope are hung, Spring after spring, through all the woodland ways. The meditations of the secret earth Are steadfast and enduring: these remain— Her sacramental rites of death and birth, And the old mysteries of love and pain. Time and the years like wandering clouds go by: The moon still floods the wood, and from the hill The cricket lifts the immemorial cry— And the immortal joy is flowing still. The everlasting song is still unsung, And the eternal tale is never told: Earth and the ancient joy are ever young, It is the heart that withers and grows old.

I HAVE no fear at last to be Home with her that cradled me, Nor shall my being shrink to blend With her dark being in the end— So one we are, so well I know The bounty of the heart below, Her holy love. Have I not heard The lonely and prophetic word Her hushed hills and valleys keep Locked in their eternal sleep! In Bethlehem, in buried days, So the sacred story says, Out of her ancient dream awoke The elemental heart, and spoke Such thunder in the ears of men As echoes ever after—then Closed her lips in sleep again.