Poems (Allen)/The Watchers

by Elizabeth Chase Allen

THE WATCHERS.

HEN the kind shadows dim the glaring light,
 And blessed Silence, with her watchful care,
Lays her soft fingers on the lip of Night,
 They come,—the Watchers with the shining hair.

So leave me, gentle friend, until the day;—
 The hush of twilight creeps along the air,
And when your careful steps have died away
 Will come the Watchers with the shining hair.

Turn down the lamp-light in the mellow globes,
 Dim, and yet dimmer, let its radiance be,—
Enough of light will scatter from the robes
 Of those who wait to minister to me.

The household hum has faded into peace,
 The last faint footfall dies along the stair,
And they are here, the peaceful Presences,—
 The silent Watchers with the shining hair.

How silently! the eye alone perceives
 Their wave-like motions, as they come and go,—
Their steps fall noiselessly as falling leaves
 Upon some lake wherein the lilies grow.

I know them not, who come and bless me so,
 Their faces all are beautiful, but strange;
And yet I may have loved them long ago,—
 Why should I be the only one to change?

I know thee, sweet,—I know those loving eyes,
 I know that fair head's brown-and-golden wave,
I know, too, the true heart which darkly lies
 Far from the sunshine, buried in thy grave!

How would his soul forget its bitter strife
 Could he but see thee as I see thee now,—
Fresh in the youth of the immortal life,
 With bridal blooms still bright about thy brow!

O the sweet rest ye bring me!—the release
 From the close-clinging Nessus-robe of pain:
Ye calm the flying pulse, and charm to peace
 The wildered fancies of the fevered brain.

Once more outside these prisonlng chamber walls
 I walk where May the dreaming wood awakes,—
Where through thick leaves the bashful sunlight falls,
 And the wind tells of buds and sprouting brakes.

My burning hands grow strong again, and cool,
 Laved in a brook amid the leafy glooms,
With the cool roots of rushes tangled full,
 And choked with grass, and water-loving blooms.

Faded!—and see, across my aching sight
 Falls chill and cold the day's unwelcome glare,
For with the blessed shadows of the night
 Depart the Watchers with the shining hair!