UNREST.
Rest for awhile! I'm tempest-tost to-day.
Bar out the sunshine. Let importunate life
Beating for ever with impatient hand
My soul's closed portals, only rouse within
Dull, dreamy echoes! In a forest calm
Builds sleep, the white dove. As a bird she rides
The lulled waves of the soul. To-day, my thoughts
Hunt me like hounds; the very prayer for peace
Scares peace away; my senses, wide awake,
Watch for the touch that thrills them: every sound
Falls through the listening air unscabbarded;
And if sleep comes, 'tis but a transient dream
That flits betwixt me and the light of life,
Alighting never.
Oh, sweet chrism of God!
Oh, balm and oil by Heaven's white ministers
Laid with a blessing on the gates of sense!
Baptismal font from whence our bodies rise
Regenerate! cool, way-side shadow flung
Over the paths of toil! I am athirst,
Fevered and weary of my own worn self;
Strengthen me with thy strength!
Lo, where she stands.
Sleep, the beloved, and mocks me with her beauty!
Her hands lie clasped around a lamp alight
Burning faint incense; from her zone unbound
Dark folds trail silently; the poppies wreathed
Above her temples, bursting, over-ripe,
Drop with her motion. She is fair and calm,
And dreams, like cherubs, with bright restless wings
Cling to her sweeping robes. Let her draw near,
Laying her dewy lips upon my brow,
Twining me with soft movement in her arms,
And there shall pass a fluttering through my sense,
Leaf-like vibration, and my soul, as one
Who drifts out seaward, seeing the dim shore
Receding slow, hearing the voice of waves
Call to him fainter, shall float guideless on,
Rocked into slumber; dream effacing dream,
Thought widening around thought, till all grows vague.
Bar out the sunshine. Let importunate life
Beating for ever with impatient hand
My soul's closed portals, only rouse within
Dull, dreamy echoes! In a forest calm
Builds sleep, the white dove. As a bird she rides
The lulled waves of the soul. To-day, my thoughts
Hunt me like hounds; the very prayer for peace
Scares peace away; my senses, wide awake,
Watch for the touch that thrills them: every sound
Falls through the listening air unscabbarded;
And if sleep comes, 'tis but a transient dream
That flits betwixt me and the light of life,
Alighting never.
Oh, sweet chrism of God!
Oh, balm and oil by Heaven's white ministers
Laid with a blessing on the gates of sense!
Baptismal font from whence our bodies rise
Regenerate! cool, way-side shadow flung
Over the paths of toil! I am athirst,
Fevered and weary of my own worn self;
Strengthen me with thy strength!
Lo, where she stands.
Sleep, the beloved, and mocks me with her beauty!
Her hands lie clasped around a lamp alight
Burning faint incense; from her zone unbound
Dark folds trail silently; the poppies wreathed
Above her temples, bursting, over-ripe,
Drop with her motion. She is fair and calm,
And dreams, like cherubs, with bright restless wings
Cling to her sweeping robes. Let her draw near,
Laying her dewy lips upon my brow,
Twining me with soft movement in her arms,
And there shall pass a fluttering through my sense,
Leaf-like vibration, and my soul, as one
Who drifts out seaward, seeing the dim shore
Receding slow, hearing the voice of waves
Call to him fainter, shall float guideless on,
Rocked into slumber; dream effacing dream,
Thought widening around thought, till all grows vague.