Poems (Greenwell)/VII
VII.
"The Heart is a Clock that gives warning before its Hour strikes."
Before they met they loved;
Their souls fore-felt each other: passing through
This life's dim treasure-caverns, on them grew
A whisper, clearer as they onwards moved;
"There is a Sesame that opens to
Yet richer chambers," so like Him who drew
The perfect circle of our globe, and proved,
That waiting for him on its margin (where
He knew not yet), A World in summer air
And muffling leaves and greenest quiet slept
Until he came to wake it, they were 'ware
Of this bright realm, this Virgin of the Sun,
This bride unsought, unwooed that should be won.
But of the luxury, the wealth it kept
In store, its gorgeous wilds, its solitude
Instinct with life, its tropic shade and glow
Alternating, they knew not, nor could know.
Yet, as they neared that shore, the deep was strown
With drifts of fragrant things,—and seawards-blown,
Strange birds with sunshine warm upon them, clung
About their masts, while evermore, like tales
So vague and sweet that spoken language fails
To catch their music-meaning, gentlest gales
Curled up the waves before their prow, and sung
And whistled clear within their fluttering sails,
To lure them to the country whence they sprung.
Their souls fore-felt each other: passing through
This life's dim treasure-caverns, on them grew
A whisper, clearer as they onwards moved;
"There is a Sesame that opens to
Yet richer chambers," so like Him who drew
The perfect circle of our globe, and proved,
That waiting for him on its margin (where
He knew not yet), A World in summer air
And muffling leaves and greenest quiet slept
Until he came to wake it, they were 'ware
Of this bright realm, this Virgin of the Sun,
This bride unsought, unwooed that should be won.
But of the luxury, the wealth it kept
In store, its gorgeous wilds, its solitude
Instinct with life, its tropic shade and glow
Alternating, they knew not, nor could know.
Yet, as they neared that shore, the deep was strown
With drifts of fragrant things,—and seawards-blown,
Strange birds with sunshine warm upon them, clung
About their masts, while evermore, like tales
So vague and sweet that spoken language fails
To catch their music-meaning, gentlest gales
Curled up the waves before their prow, and sung
And whistled clear within their fluttering sails,
To lure them to the country whence they sprung.
So when they met they loved;
They took not counsel of the Eye or Ear;
These are but erring vassals, and the clear
Soul-region in its rarer atmosphere
Needs not their failing witness. This was June,
The noon of Life,—the heart was at its noon;
A noon by Summer lulled to sleep, and hid
Beneath its leaves, half-stirring to a tune
Self sung in happy dreams; while sunshine slid
Adown the hill's steep side, and overtook
And meshed within its golden net, each nook
O'ershadowed with dark growths, and filled each cleft,
And thunder-splintered chasm storms had left;
When these two mounted on a blissful tide,
Sailed each within the other's soul—no oar
Flashed light along their way, no canvas wide
Impelled them; but a steadfast current bore
Them o'er the level champaign, till they neared
A Palace, where, through open gate and door,
They gazed together on the land that lay
Before them, glittering peak and gleaming bay,
As on a country known to them before,
Though unbeheld; and even as a King
Upon his crowning day new robes will fling
On all around him, so each common thing
Stood forth in light apparelled, and took
Its hue and semblance even from the look
They cast upon it; yet, thus venturing,
I speak not wisely,—nay, these only took
Their pristine hues—their colour that forsook
And fled, when Man with Death upon his track
Went woful forth from Eden's gate, came back
When Eden's tongue was spoken! and the smile
That Nature 'neath her Mother's brow of care
Hides in her loving eyes, dawned bland and fair
To see her children's gladness; so the while
They sat beneath one crown, upon one throne;
And wrapped within the purple, o'er their own
Stretched forth the sceptre; never dial flung
Its warning shadow, never iron tongue
Knelled forth the busy hours;[1] they took no heed
Of Time or of his flight, nor had they need:
For they together with the world were young,
And ever would be! Life in very deed
Held back for them no Future, and the Past
Lay calm before them in a mirror glassed
To feed sweet fancies, showing how it led
To this bright now; so all things ministered
And wrought their bidding; here they deemed it well,
Like her who said, "I sit a Queen," to dwell
In joy for evermore; but change befell.
They took not counsel of the Eye or Ear;
These are but erring vassals, and the clear
Soul-region in its rarer atmosphere
Needs not their failing witness. This was June,
The noon of Life,—the heart was at its noon;
A noon by Summer lulled to sleep, and hid
Beneath its leaves, half-stirring to a tune
Self sung in happy dreams; while sunshine slid
Adown the hill's steep side, and overtook
And meshed within its golden net, each nook
O'ershadowed with dark growths, and filled each cleft,
And thunder-splintered chasm storms had left;
When these two mounted on a blissful tide,
Sailed each within the other's soul—no oar
Flashed light along their way, no canvas wide
Impelled them; but a steadfast current bore
Them o'er the level champaign, till they neared
A Palace, where, through open gate and door,
They gazed together on the land that lay
Before them, glittering peak and gleaming bay,
As on a country known to them before,
Though unbeheld; and even as a King
Upon his crowning day new robes will fling
On all around him, so each common thing
Stood forth in light apparelled, and took
Its hue and semblance even from the look
They cast upon it; yet, thus venturing,
I speak not wisely,—nay, these only took
Their pristine hues—their colour that forsook
And fled, when Man with Death upon his track
Went woful forth from Eden's gate, came back
When Eden's tongue was spoken! and the smile
That Nature 'neath her Mother's brow of care
Hides in her loving eyes, dawned bland and fair
To see her children's gladness; so the while
They sat beneath one crown, upon one throne;
And wrapped within the purple, o'er their own
Stretched forth the sceptre; never dial flung
Its warning shadow, never iron tongue
Knelled forth the busy hours;[1] they took no heed
Of Time or of his flight, nor had they need:
For they together with the world were young,
And ever would be! Life in very deed
Held back for them no Future, and the Past
Lay calm before them in a mirror glassed
To feed sweet fancies, showing how it led
To this bright now; so all things ministered
And wrought their bidding; here they deemed it well,
Like her who said, "I sit a Queen," to dwell
In joy for evermore; but change befell.
They parted but they loved;
How could these part? what sword could be in life
To sever hearts like these? Methinks its strife
Should but have proved the furnace in whose glow
The fiery bars of metal fuse, and grow
More close together welded; even so.
But in this world of ours the heart, though strong
And armed and watchful, never holdeth long
Its own in peace; for sure as to the moon
The Ocean rises, here a steadfast law
Doth hold or rend asunder hearts that draw
Together, restless till they meet, then soon
Divided, and for ever; it would seem
That God hath made these loving hearts and bold,
For Him and for His world that lies a-cold
For lack of generous fuel, not to fold
Their warmth within each other, but to stream
Afar and wide, with broader, purer gleam.
How this may be I know not, but I know
That never more within our hearth-light's glow
These sat together; never, gazing through
One lattice, watched the sky; but when they knew
Their paths were severed, rising, on their way
Went forth before the breaking of the day,
And parted on Life's cross-road,—not before
Each lifted up a voice of weeping sore.
And blessed the other's journey! So they moved
(In tents abiding) through new lands that bore
No likeness to the country where of yore
They dwelt together: other scenes and looks
Grew round them; other hearts became the books
They read and mused in; other trials proved,
And other blessings gladdened, yet they loved.
How could these part? what sword could be in life
To sever hearts like these? Methinks its strife
Should but have proved the furnace in whose glow
The fiery bars of metal fuse, and grow
More close together welded; even so.
But in this world of ours the heart, though strong
And armed and watchful, never holdeth long
Its own in peace; for sure as to the moon
The Ocean rises, here a steadfast law
Doth hold or rend asunder hearts that draw
Together, restless till they meet, then soon
Divided, and for ever; it would seem
That God hath made these loving hearts and bold,
For Him and for His world that lies a-cold
For lack of generous fuel, not to fold
Their warmth within each other, but to stream
Afar and wide, with broader, purer gleam.
How this may be I know not, but I know
That never more within our hearth-light's glow
These sat together; never, gazing through
One lattice, watched the sky; but when they knew
Their paths were severed, rising, on their way
Went forth before the breaking of the day,
And parted on Life's cross-road,—not before
Each lifted up a voice of weeping sore.
And blessed the other's journey! So they moved
(In tents abiding) through new lands that bore
No likeness to the country where of yore
They dwelt together: other scenes and looks
Grew round them; other hearts became the books
They read and mused in; other trials proved,
And other blessings gladdened, yet they loved.
They parted, yet they love;
And shall these spirits in an air serene,
Where nought can shadow, nought can come between,
Meet once again, and to the other grow
More close and sure than could have been below?
Or will that State, that blissful Commonweal,
Leave, each of all possessing, room to feel
For other bliss than merges in the flow
Of Love's great ocean, whence these drops did steal
To Earth of old, and wandered to and fro?
—I know not of this now, but I shall know.
And shall these spirits in an air serene,
Where nought can shadow, nought can come between,
Meet once again, and to the other grow
More close and sure than could have been below?
Or will that State, that blissful Commonweal,
Leave, each of all possessing, room to feel
For other bliss than merges in the flow
Of Love's great ocean, whence these drops did steal
To Earth of old, and wandered to and fro?
—I know not of this now, but I shall know.