. . . "Una selva oscura."--Dante.
Awake or sleeping (for I know not which)I was or was not mazed within a woodWhere every mother-bird brought up her broodSafe in some leafy nicheOf oak or ash, of cypress or of beech,Of silvery aspen trembling delicately,Of plane or warmer-tinted sycamore,Of elm that dies in secret from the core,Of ivy weak and free,Of pines, of all green lofty things that be.Such birds they seemed as challenged each desire;Like spots of azure heaven upon the wing,Like downy emeralds that alight and sing,Like actual coals on fire,Like anything they seemed, and everything.Such mirth they made, such warblings and such chatWith tongue of music in a well-tuned beak,They seemed to speak more wisdom than we speak,To make our music flatAnd all our subtlest reasonings wild or weak.Their meat was nought but flowers like butterflies,With berries coral-colored or like gold;Their drink was only dew, which blossoms holdDeep where the honey lies;Their wings and tails were lit by sparkling eyes.The shade wherein they revelled was a shadeThat danced and twinkled to the unseen sun;Branches and leaves cast shadows one by one,And all their shadows swayedIn breaths of air that rustled and that played.A sound of waters neither rose nor sank,And spread a sense of freshness through the air;It seemed not here or there, but everywhere,As if the whole earth drank,Root fathom deep and strawberry on its bank.But I who saw such things as I have said,Was overdone with utter weariness;And walked in care, as one whom fears oppressBecause above his headDeath hangs, or damage, or the dearth of bread.Each sore defeat of my defeated lifeFaced and outfaced me in that bitter hour;And turned to yearning palsy all my power,And all my peace to strife,Self stabbing self with keen lack-pity knife.Sweetness of beauty moved me to despair,Stung me to anger by its mere content,Made me all lonely on that way I went,Piled care upon my care,Brimmed full my cup, and stripped me empty and bare:For all that was but showed what all was not,But gave clear proof of what might never be;Making more destitute my poverty,And yet more blank my lot,And me much sadder by its jubilee.Therefore I sat me down: for wherefore walk?And closed mine eyes: for wherefore see or hear?Alas, I had no shutter to mine ear,And could not shun the talkOf all rejoicing creatures far or near.Without my will I hearkened and I heard(Asleep or waking, for I know not which),Till note by note the music changed its pitch;Bird ceased to answer bird,And every wind sighed softly if it stirred.The drip of widening waters seemed to weep,All fountains sobbed and gurgled as they sprang,Somewhere a cataract cried out in its leapSheer down a headlong steep;High over all cloud-thunders gave a clang.Such universal sound of lamentationI heard and felt, fain not to feel or hear;Nought else there seemed but anguish far and near;Nought else but all creationMoaning and groaning wrung by pain or fear,Shuddering in the misery of its doom:My heart then rose a rebel against light,Scouring all earth and heaven and depth and height,Ingathering wrath and gloom,Ingathering wrath to wrath and night to night.Ah me, the bitterness of such revolt,All impotent, all hateful, and all hate,That kicks and breaks itself against the boltOf an imprisoning fate,And vainly shakes, and cannot shake the gate.Agony to agony, deep called to deep,Out of the deep I called of my desire;My strength was weakness and my heart was fire;Mine eyes that would not weepOr sleep, scaled height and depth, and could not sleep;The eyes, I mean, of my rebellious soul,For still my bodily eyes were closed and dark:A random thing I seemed without a mark,Racing without a goal,Adrift upon life's sea without an ark.More leaden than the actual self of leadOuter and inner darkness weighed on me.The tide of anger ebbed. Then fierce and freeSurged full above my headThe moaning tide of helpless misery.Why should I breathe, whose breath was but a sigh?Why should I live, who drew such painful breath?Oh weary work, the unanswerable why!--Yet I, why should I die,Who had no hope in life, no hope in death?Grasses and mosses and the fallen leafMake peaceful bed for an indefinite term;But underneath the grass there gnaws a worm--Haply, there gnaws a grief--Both, haply always; not, as now, so brief.The pleasure I remember, it is past;The pain I feel is passing, passing by;Thus all the world is passing, and thus I:All things that cannot lastHave grown familiar, and are born to die.And being familiar, have so long been borneThat habit trains us not to break but bend:Mourning grows natural to us who mournIn foresight of an end,But that which ends not who shall brave or mend?Surely the ripe fruits tremble on their bough,They cling and linger trembling till they drop:I, trembling, cling to dying life; for howFace the perpetual Now?Birthless and deathless, void of start or stop,Void of repentance, void of hope and fear,Of possibility, alternative,Of all that ever made us bear to liveFrom night to morning here,Of promise even which has no gift to give.The wood, and every creature of the wood,Seemed mourning with me in an undertone;Soft scattered chirpings and a windy moan,Trees rustling where they stoodAnd shivered, showed compassion for my mood.Rage to despair; and now despair had turnedBack to self-pity and mere weariness,With yearnings like a smouldering fire that burned,And might grow more or less,And might die out or wax to white excess.Without, within me, music seemed to be;Something not music, yet most musical,Silence and sound in heavenly harmony;At length a pattering fallOf feet, a bell, and bleatings, broke through all.Then I looked up. The wood lay in a glowFrom golden sunset and from ruddy sky;The sun had stooped to earth though once so high;Had stooped to earth, in slowWarm dying loveliness brought near and low.Each water-drop made answer to the light,Lit up a spark and showed the sun his face;Soft purple shadows paved the grassy spaceAnd crept from height to height,From height to loftier height crept up apace.While opposite the sun a gazing moonPut on his glory for her coronet,Kindling her luminous coldness to its noon,As his great splendor set;One only star made up her train as yet.Each twig was tipped with gold, each leaf was edgedAnd veined with gold from the gold-flooded west;Each mother-bird, and mate-bird, and unfledgedNestling, and curious nest,Displayed a gilded moss or beak or breast.And filing peacefully between the trees,Having the moon behind them, and the sunFull in their meek mild faces, walked at easeA homeward flock, at peaceWith one another and with every one.A patriarchal ram with tinkling bellLed all his kin; sometimes one browsing sheepHung back a moment, or one lamb would leapAnd frolic in a dell;Yet still they kept together, journeying well,And bleating, one or other, many or few,Journeying together toward the sunlit west;Mild face by face, and woolly breast by breast,Patient, sun-brightened too,Still journeying toward the sunset and their rest.
All.
I, All-Creation, sing my song of praiseTo God Who made me and vouchsafes my days,And sends me forth by multitudinous ways.
Seraph.
I, like my Brethren, burn eternallyWith love of Him Who is Love, and loveth me;The Holy, Holy, Holy Unity.
Cherub.
I, with my Brethren, gaze eternallyOn Him Who is Wisdom, and Who knoweth me;The Holy, Holy, Holy Trinity.
All Angels.
We rule, we serve, we work, we store His treasure,Whose vessels are we, brimmed with strength and pleasure;Our joys fulfil, yea, overfill our measure.
Heavens.
We float before the Presence Infinite,We cluster round the Throne in our delight,Revolving and rejoicing in God's sight.
Firmament.
I, blue and beautiful, and framed of air,At sunrise and at sunset grow most fair;His glory by my glories I declare.
Powers.
We Powers are powers because He makes us strong;Wherefore we roll all rolling orbs along,We move all moving things, and sing our song.
Sun.
I blaze to Him in mine engarlandingOf rays, I flame His whole burnt-offering,While as a bridegroom I rejoice and sing.
Moon.
I follow, and am fair, and do His Will;Through all my changes I am faithful still,Full-orbed or strait, His mandate to fulfil.
Stars.
We Star-hosts numerous, innumerous,Throng space with energy untumultuous,And work His Will Whose eye beholdeth us.
Galaxies and Nebulæ.
No thing is far or near; and therefore weFloat neither far nor near; but where we beWeave dances round the Throne perpetually.
Comets and Meteors.
Our lights dart here and there, whirl to and fro,We flash and vanish, we die down and glow;All doing His Will Who bids us do it so.
Showers.
We give ourselves; and be we great or small,Thus are we made like Him Who giveth all,Like Him Whose gracious pleasure bids us fall.
Dews.
We give ourselves in silent secret ways,Spending and spent in silence full of grace;And thus are made like God, and show His praise.
Winds.
We sift the air and winnow all the earth;And God Who poised our weights and weighs our worthAccepts the worship of our solemn mirth.
Fire.
My power and strength are His Who fashioned me,Ordained me image of His Jealousy,Forged me His weapon fierce exceedingly.
Heat.
I glow unto His glory, and do good:I glow, and bring to life both bud and brood;I glow, and ripen harvest-crops for food.
Winter and Summer.
Our wealth and joys and beauties celebrateHis wealth of beauty Who sustains our state,Before Whose changelessness we alternate.
Spring and Autumn.
I hope,--And I remember,--
We give placeEither to other with contented grace,Acceptable and lovely all our days.
Frost.
I make the unstable stable, binding fastThe world of waters prone to ripple past:Thus praise I God, Whose mercies I forecast.
Cold.
I rouse and goad the slothful, apt to nod,I stir and urge the laggards with my rod:My praise is not of men, yet I praise God.
Snow.
My whiteness shadoweth Him Who is most fair,All spotless: yea, my whiteness which I wearExalts His Purity beyond compare.
Vapors.
We darken sun and moon, and blot the day,The good Will of our Maker to obey:Till to the glory of God we pass away.
Night.
Moon and all stars I don for diademTo make me fair: I cast myself and themBefore His feet, Who knows us gem from gem.
Day.
I shout before Him in my plenitudeOf light and warmth, of hope and wealth and food;Ascribing all good to the Only Good.
Light and Darkness.
I am God's dwelling-place,--And also IMake His pavilion,--Lo, we bide and flyExulting in the Will of God Most High.
Lightning and Thunder.
We indivisible flash forth His Fame,We thunder forth the glory of His Name,In harmony of resonance and flame.
Clouds.
Sweet is our store, exhaled from sea or river:We wear a rainbow, praising God the GiverBecause His mercy is for ever and ever.
Earth.
I rest in Him rejoicing: resting soAnd so rejoicing, in that I am low;Yet known of Him, and following on to know.
Mountains.
Our heights which laud Him, sink abased beforeHim higher than the highest evermore:God higher than the highest we adore.
Hills.
We green-tops praise Him, and we fruitful heads,Whereon the sunshine and the dew He sheds:We green-tops praise Him, rising from out beds.
Green Things.
We all green things, we blossoms bright or dim,Trees, bushes, brushwood, corn and grasses slim,We lift our many-favored lauds to Him.
Rose,--Lily,--Violet.
I praise Him on my thorn which I adorn,--And I, amid my world of thistle and thorn,--And I, within my veil where I am born.
Apple,--Citron,--Pomegranate.
We, Apple-blossom, Citron, Pomegranate,We, clothed of God without our toil and fret,We offer fatness where His Throne is set.
Vine,--Cedar,--Palm.
I proffer Him my sweetness, who am sweet,--I bow my strength in fragrance at His feet,--I wave myself before His Judgment Seat.
Medicinal Herbs.
I bring refreshment,--I bring ease and calm,--I lavish strength and healing,--I am balm,--We work His pitiful Will and chant our psalm.
A Spring.
Clear my pure fountain, clear and pure my rill,My fountain and mine outflow deep and still,I set His semblance forth and do His Will.
Sea.
To-day I praise God with a sparkling face,My thousand thousand waves all uttering praise:To-morrow I commit me to His Grace.
Floods.
We spring and swell meandering to and fro,From height to depth, from depth to depth we flow,We fertilize the world, and praise Him so.
Whales and Sea Mammals.
We Whales and Monsters gambol in His sightRejoicing every day and every night,Safe in the tender keeping of His Might.
Fishes.
Our fashions and our colors and our speedsSet forth His praise Who framed us and Who feeds,Who knows our number and regards our needs.
Birds.
Winged Angels of this visible world, we flyTo sing God's praises in the lofty sky;We scale the height to praise our Lord most High.
Eagle and Dove.
I the sun-gazing Eagle,--I the Dove,With plumes of softness and a note of love,--We praise by divers gifts One God above.
Beasts and Cattle.
We forest Beasts,--We Beasts of hill or cave,--We border-loving Creatures of the wave,--We praise our King with voices deep and grave.
Small Animals.
God forms us weak and small, but pours out allWe need, and notes us while we stand or fall:Wherefore we praise Him, weak and safe and small.
Lamb.
I praise my loving Lord, Who maketh meHis type by harmless sweet simplicity:Yet He the Lamb of lambs incomparably.
Lion.
I praise the Lion of the Royal Race,Strongest in fight and swiftest in the chase:With all my might I leap and lavish praise.
All Men.
All creatures sing around us, and we sing:We bring our own selves as our offering,Our very selves we render to our King.
Israel.
Flock of our Shepherd's pasture and His fold,Purchased and well-beloved from days of old,We tell His praise which still remains untold.
Priests.
We free-will Shepherds tend His sheep, and feed;We follow Him while caring for their need;We follow praising Him, and them we lead.
Servants of God.
We love God, for He loves us; we are freeIn serving Him, who serve Him willingly:As kings we reign, and praise His Majesty.
Holy and Humble Persons.
All humble souls he calls and sanctifies;All holy souls He calls to make them wise;Accepting all, His free-will sacrifice.
Babes.
He maketh me,--And me,--And me,--To beHis blessed little ones around His knee,Who praise Him by mere love confidingly.
Women.
God makes our service love, and makes our wageLove: so we wend on patient pilgrimage,Extolling Him by love from age to age.
Men.
God gives us power to rule: He gives us powerTo rule ourselves, and prune the exuberant flowerOf youth, and worship Him hour after hour.
Spirits and Souls--
Lo, in the hidden world we chant our chantTo Him Who fills us that we nothing want,To Him Whose bounty leaves our craving scant.
of Babes--
With milky mouths we praise God, from the breastCalled home betimes to rest the perfect rest,By love and joy fufilling His behest.
of Women--
We praise His Will which made us what He would,His Will which fashioned us and called us good,His Will our plenary beatitude.
of Men.
We praise His Will Who bore with us so long,Who out of weakness wrought us swift and strong,Champions of right and putters-down of wrong.
All.
Let everything that hath or hath not breath,Let days and endless days, let life and death,Praise God, praise God, praise God, His creature saith.
Before the mountains were brought forth, beforeEarth and the world were made, then God was God:And God will still be God, when flames shall roarRound earth and heaven dissolving at His nod:And this God is our God, even while His rodOf righteous wrath falls on us smiting sore:And this God is our God for evermoreThrough life, through death, while clod returns to clod.For though He slay us we will trust in Him;We will flock home to Him by divers ways:Yea, though He slay us we will vaunt His praise,Serving and loving with the Cherubim,Watching and loving with the Seraphim,Our very selves His praise through endless days.
Rend hearts and rend not garments for our sins;Gird sackcloth not on body but on soul;Grovel in dust with faces toward the goalNor won, nor neared: he only laughs who wins.Not neared the goal, the race too late begins;Or left undone, we have yet to do the whole;The sun is hurrying west and toward the poleWhere darkness waits for earth with all her kins.Let us to-day, while it is called to-day,Set out, if utmost speed may yet avail--The shadows lengthen and the light grows pale:For who through darkness and the shadow of death,Darkness that may be felt, shall find a way,Blind-eyed, deaf-eared, and choked with failing breath?
Thou Who didst make and knowest whereof we are made,Oh bear in mind our dust and nothingness,Our wordless tearless dumbness of distress:Bear Thou in mind the burden Thou hast laidUpon us, and our feebleness unstayedExcept Thou stay us: for the long long raceWhich stretches far and far before our faceThou knowest,--remember Thou whereof we are made.If making makes us Thine, then Thine we are;And if redemption, we are twice Thine own:If once Thou didst come down from heaven afarTo seek us and to find us, how not save?Comfort us, save us, leave us not alone,Thou Who didst die our death and fill our grave.
So tired am I, so weary of to-day,So unrefreshed from foregone weariness,So overburdened by foreseen distress,So lagging and so stumbling on my way,I scarce can rouse myself to watch or pray,To hope, or aim, or toil for more or less,--Ah, always less and less, even while I pressForward and toil and aim as best I may.Half-starved of soul and heartsick utterly,Yet lift I up my heart and soul and eyes(Which fail in looking upward) toward the prize:Me, Lord, Thou seest though I see not Thee;Me now, as once the Thief in Paradise,Even me, O Lord my Lord, remember me.
Lord, Thou Thyself art Love and only Thou;Yet I who am not love would fain love Thee;But Thou alone being Love canst furnish meWith that same love my heart is craving now.Allow my plea! for if Thou disallow,No second fountain can I find but Thee;No second hope or help is left to me,No second anything, but only Thou.O Love accept, according my request;O Love exhaust, fulfilling my desire:Uphold me with the strength that cannot tire,Nerve me to labor till Thou bid me rest,Kindle my fire from Thine unkindled fire,And charm the willing heart from out my breast.
We lack, yet cannot fix upon the lack:Not this, nor that; yet somewhat, certainly.We see the things we do not yearn to seeAround us: and what see we glancing back?Lost hopes that leave our hearts upon the rack,Hopes that were never ours yet seemed to be,For which we steered on life's salt stormy seaBraving the sunstroke and the frozen pack.If thus to look behind is all in vain,And all in vain to look to left or right,Why face we not our future once again,Launching with hardier hearts across the main,Straining dim eyes to catch the invisible sight,And strong to bear ourselves in patient pain?
To love and to remember; that is good:To love and to forget; that is not well:To lapse from love to hatred; that is hellAnd death and torment, rightly understood.Soul dazed by love and sorrow, cheer thy mood;More blest art thou than mortal tongue can tell:Ring not thy funeral but thy marriage bell,And salt with hope thy life's insipid food.Love is the goal, love is the way we wend,Love is our parallel unending lineWhose only perfect Parallel is Christ,Beginning not begun, End without end:For He Who hath the heart of God sufficed,Can satisfy all hearts,--yea, thine and mine.
We feel and see with different hearts and eyes:--Ah Christ, if all our hearts could meet in TheeHow well it were for them and well for me,Our hearts Thy dear accepted sacrifice.Thou, only Life of hearts and Light of eyes,Our life, our light, if once we turn to Thee,So be it, O Lord, to them and so to me;Be all alike Thine own dear sacrifice.Thou Who by death hast ransomed us from death,Thyself God's sole well-pleasing Sacrifice,Thine only sacred Self I plead with Thee:Make Thou it well for them and well for meThat Thou hast given us souls and wills and breath;And hearts to love Thee; and to see Thee, eyes.
Star Sirius and the Pole Star dwell afarBeyond the drawings each of other's strength:One blazes through the brief bright summer's lengthLavishing life-heat from a flaming car;While one unchangeable upon a throneBroods o'er the frozen heart of earth alone,Content to reign the bright particular starOf some who wander or of some who groan.They own no drawings each of other's strength,Nor vibrate in a visible sympathy,Nor veer along their courses each toward each:Yet are their orbits pitched in harmonyOf one dear heaven, across whose depth and lengthMayhap they talk together without speech.
Tread softly! all the earth is holy ground.It may be, could we look with seeing eyes,This spot we stand on is a ParadiseWhere dead have come to life and lost been found,Where Faith has triumphed, Martyrdom been crowned,Where fools have foiled the wisdom of the wise;From this same spot the dust of saints may rise,And the King's prisoners come to light unbound.O earth, earth, earth, hear thou thy Maker's Word:"Thy dead thou shalt give up, nor hide thy slain"--Some who went weeping forth shall come againRejoicing from the east or from the west,As doves fly to their windows, love's own birdContented and desirous to the nest.[1][1] "Quali colombe dal disio chiamateCon l'ali aperte e ferme al dolce nidoVolan per l'aer dal voler portate."Dante.
Lifelong our stumbles, lifelong our regret,Lifelong our efforts failing and renewed,While lifelong is our witness, "God is good:"Who bore with us till now, bears with us yet,Who still remembers and will not forget,Who gives us light and warmth and daily food;And gracious promises half understood,And glories half unveiled, whereon to setOur heart of hearts and eyes of our desire;Uplifting us to longing and to love,Luring us upward from this world of mire,Urging us to press on and mount aboveOurselves and all we have had experience of,Mounting to Him in love's perpetual fire.
A dream there is wherein we are fain to scream,While struggling with ourselves we cannot speak:And much of all our waking life, as weakAnd misconceived, eludes us like the dream.For half life's seemings are not what they seem,And vain the laughs we laugh, the shrieks we shriek;Yea, all is vain that mars the settled meekContented quiet of our daily theme.When I was young I deemed that sweets are sweet:But now I deem some searching bitters areSweeter than sweets, and more refreshing far,And to be relished more, and more desired,And more to be pursued on eager feet,On feet untired, and still on feet though tired.
Shame is a shadow cast by sin: yet shameItself may be a glory and a grace,Refashioning the sin-disfashioned face;A nobler bruit than hollow-sounded fame,A new-lit lustre on a tarnished name,One virtue pent within an evil place,Strength for the fight, and swiftness for the race,A stinging salve, a life-requickening flame.A salve so searching we may scarcely live,A flame so fierce it seems that we must die,An actual cautery thrust into the heart:Nevertheless, men die not of such smart;And shame gives back what nothing else can give,Man to himself,--then sets him up on high.
When Adam and when Eve left ParadiseDid they love on and cling together still,Forgiving one another all that illThe twain had wrought on such a different wise?She propped upon his strength, and he in guiseOf lover though of lord, girt to fulfilTheir term of life and die when God should will;Lie down and sleep, and having slept arise.Boast not against us, O our enemy!To-day we fall, but we shall rise again;We grope to-day, to-morrow we shall see:What is to-day that we should fear to-day?A morrow cometh which shall sweep awayThee and thy realm of change and death and pain.
Let woman fear to teach and bear to learn,Remembering the first woman's first mistake.Eve had for pupil the inquiring snake,Whose doubts she answered on a great concern;But he the tables so contrived to turn,It next was his to give and hers to take;Till man deemed poison sweet for her sweet sake,And fired a train by which the world must burn.Did Adam love his Eve from first to last?I think so; as we love who works us ill,And wounds us to the quick, yet loves us still.Love pardons the unpardonable past:Love in a dominant embrace holds fastHis frailer self, and saves without her will.
Our teachers teach that one and one make two:Later, Love rules that one and one make one:Abstruse the problems! neither need we shun,But skilfully to each should yield its due.The narrower total seems to suit the few,The wider total suits the common run;Each obvious in its sphere like moon or sun;Both provable by me, and both by you.Befogged and witless, in a wordy mazeA groping stroll perhaps may do us good;If cloyed we are with much we have understood,If tired of half our dusty world and ways,If sick of fasting, and if sick of food;--And how about these long still-lengthening days?
Something this foggy day, a something whichIs neither of this fog nor of to-day,Has set me dreaming of the winds that playPast certain cliffs, along one certain beach,And turn the topmost edge of waves to spray:Ah pleasant pebbly strand so far away,So out of reach while quite within my reach,As out of reach as India or Cathay!I am sick of where I am and where I am not,I am sick of foresight and of memory,I am sick of all I have and all I see,I am sick of self, and there is nothing new;Oh weary impatient patience of my lot!--Thus with myself: how fares it, Friends, with you?
So late in Autumn half the world's asleep,And half the wakeful world looks pinched and pale;For dampness now, not freshness, rides the gale;And cold and colorless comes ashore the deepWith tides that bluster or with tides that creep;Now veiled uncouthness wears an uncouth veilOf fog, not sultry haze; and blight and baleHave done their worst, and leaves rot on the heap.So late in Autumn one forgets the Spring,Forgets the Summer with its opulence,The callow birds that long have found a wing,The swallows that more lately gat them hence:Will anything like Spring, will anythingLike Summer, rouse one day the slumbering sense?