Poems (Radford)/At Night

by Dollie Radford

At Night

I

The door is shut and barred upon my home,
 My home that for so long has held my pain,
 My home where all my tears were wept in vain,
And through the night in silence I am come,
And my tired hope that all the day was dumb,
 Has dropped to perish as a wounded bird;
 And through the night there is not any word
To save my hope whose wings grow cold and numb:
The darkness presses close on either hand,
 Oh, I am out upon a driving sea
 And strain and break to ride as I were free,
I drift on swelling tides that seek no strand,
That never more may break upon the land,
 The great unchannelled floods of misery.

II

The future holds one plot of barren earth
 That my long grief shall water into flower,
 And one unborn shall gather there for dower
A perfect blossom that shall have its birth,
So rare I may not guess its shape or worth:
 And there shall be one day so full of joy,
 Shall heal my shattered days with sweet employ,
Shall flood their wistful patience with its mirth;
Such must there be, oh God, Who made the waste
 So bare beneath the Heaven, Who hast spread
 The stones upon the path that I must tread,
Who set the thorns through which I may not haste,
The bitter fruits which I must faint to taste,
 Such must there be, oh God, Who art o'erhead.

III

For those who in Love's Service have no part,
 Whose altars stand in shadow and are bare,
 Whose silence never breaks to praise or prayer,
For those whose hands are empty in Love's mart,
Who through Thy night and day-time feel the smart,
 The pain of pilgrims outcast from Thy grace,
 Who in Love's company have found no place,
But bear Thy doom, oh God, Who made the heart
To thirst to madness with its long desire,—
 For those, drop down the deep sleep of Thy might—
 For those, oh God, whose pale uncertain flight
From Thy refusals may not rest nor tire,
Who drift, as smoke is drifted from the fire,
 Across a mighty hope that fills the night.

IV

A storm is passing through the night, and soon
 The heavy clouds are out upon their road,
 From cast and west they gather up their load,
And from the night they ask not any boon
But their old right to sweep across the moon,
 To blot its light and hide the paling stars,
 To drop their torrents down, and leave the scars
Of their fierce passion on the unborn noon:
And deep within the night's unbroken breath
 The blinding courses of their fires are bent,
 Their anguish of rebellion poured and spent;
And in Night's even pulse no failing saith
How close its ancient bond is held with Death,
 The brooding Night that knows its great intent.