The Voice of the Valley/The Night Reverie
The Night Reverie
in the Forest
The Night Reverie in the Forest
"Buy my tears that I sucked from the breast of Truth—tears, sister spirits of Heaven's smile!" sobs the Wind.
Thou pale Wind, tear-vender of the hideous night, no one welcomes thee with thy unsold tears!
Thou Gipsy-Wind, my fellow-wanderer who fears light, cease thy plaintive strain of the sweet home ever lost!
"O Poet, sole midnight comforter, share my tears in thy heart ever tenanted by Autumn!"
Kiss me, Wind, to whom the gates of Spring never swing open, let us sleep under the weeping candle-star!
O Repose, whose bosom harbors the heavenly dream-ships, welcome me, an exiled soul!
Thou Forest, where Peace and Liberty divide their wealth with even a homeless convict,
Let me sleep in thy arm-boughs, safer far than a king's iron castle guarded by mortal power!
Lull thy guest to reverie, master-spirit of the forest, with thy solemn love-tales of ancient gods!
Here Ease and Grandeur lodge in the forest's heart, where Time ever reveals his changeless youth.
Five miles I traveled—the black-robed bird-monk had ended his last prayer, a good-night hymn;
Ten miles,—I lost the home window-light that bids Sorrow and Tears depart like masterless dogs;
Twenty miles,—the eloping mother-moon had abandoned her child, my lonely soul.
Thou Darkness, bewailing thy desertion by Light, I deplore my like fate, echoing thy saddest strain!—
Friend Night, my tears overflow from the love-fountain unto the sorrow-made dells!
I, an idle singer, fleeing from the world's shame, make a pilgrimage to an unknown land—O Heaven—or Hell?
Thou Silence, who never responds to mortal's voice, where is the secret door of Paradise?—Speak once unto me!
O Star, thou radiant spirit of the blessed Beatrice who once guided a mortal unto Heaven, brighten now my darksome path!
I, a lone pilgrim, knock at the gate of Heaven—nay, the silent castle of Repose—O Repose!
Rhyme on, Lady-Rivulet from thy mountain Memnon, thy tunable song awakening mortals' vanity-dreams!
Ah, Nakedness! Nakedness—to whom Shame and Pride are buried in the peaceful tomb of Faith!
Ah, Loneliness! Loneliness—to whom a boatman of God is the sole savior on the vast Sea of Eternity!
I repose under the forest's arm-boughs—if I awaken not forever, pray, brother mortal,
Make my grave under the greenest grass and carve this line: "Here sleeps a nameless Poet."
Thou pale Wind, tear-vender of the hideous night, no one welcomes thee with thy unsold tears!
Thou Gipsy-Wind, my fellow-wanderer who fears light, cease thy plaintive strain of the sweet home ever lost!
"O Poet, sole midnight comforter, share my tears in thy heart ever tenanted by Autumn!"
Kiss me, Wind, to whom the gates of Spring never swing open, let us sleep under the weeping candle-star!
O Repose, whose bosom harbors the heavenly dream-ships, welcome me, an exiled soul!
Thou Forest, where Peace and Liberty divide their wealth with even a homeless convict,
Let me sleep in thy arm-boughs, safer far than a king's iron castle guarded by mortal power!
Lull thy guest to reverie, master-spirit of the forest, with thy solemn love-tales of ancient gods!
Here Ease and Grandeur lodge in the forest's heart, where Time ever reveals his changeless youth.
Five miles I traveled—the black-robed bird-monk had ended his last prayer, a good-night hymn;
Ten miles,—I lost the home window-light that bids Sorrow and Tears depart like masterless dogs;
Twenty miles,—the eloping mother-moon had abandoned her child, my lonely soul.
Thou Darkness, bewailing thy desertion by Light, I deplore my like fate, echoing thy saddest strain!—
Friend Night, my tears overflow from the love-fountain unto the sorrow-made dells!
I, an idle singer, fleeing from the world's shame, make a pilgrimage to an unknown land—O Heaven—or Hell?
Thou Silence, who never responds to mortal's voice, where is the secret door of Paradise?—Speak once unto me!
O Star, thou radiant spirit of the blessed Beatrice who once guided a mortal unto Heaven, brighten now my darksome path!
I, a lone pilgrim, knock at the gate of Heaven—nay, the silent castle of Repose—O Repose!
Rhyme on, Lady-Rivulet from thy mountain Memnon, thy tunable song awakening mortals' vanity-dreams!
Ah, Nakedness! Nakedness—to whom Shame and Pride are buried in the peaceful tomb of Faith!
Ah, Loneliness! Loneliness—to whom a boatman of God is the sole savior on the vast Sea of Eternity!
I repose under the forest's arm-boughs—if I awaken not forever, pray, brother mortal,
Make my grave under the greenest grass and carve this line: "Here sleeps a nameless Poet."