THE SECRET ONE
Here,by this frame and network of the fleshAnd wires of her controlSurrounded, central in her subtle meshAnd secret, sits the soul,Urgent through all the body, while each partObeys, and all areone—While in her dungeons labors the lone heartTo make her will be done.She reins the forces in their wild careerThat bear her, as they go,Over the dark abyss; and knows how sheerReaches the gulf below.How dubious her life and slenderlyHangs, by a scarlet thread,Between eternity andeternity—She guesses, wise in dread;And ever watchful, ever wary, setIn the centre all alone,Feels ’round her cautiously if any threatBe made against the throne.Sometimes along her nerves the voice of painBears tidings to her hateAnd frantic wrath, that the old foe againIs clamorous at thegate—She rages up and down, and to and froIn timid anger runs:If the frontiers be menaced, it is knownAll over, and at once.She hears her breast of sorrows night and dayAt labor; ’round her broodThe old oblivions, where she sits at bay;She hears the battling blood.Echoes assail her from far worlds that lieBeyond the bourne ofthese—Contact and color and the angry cryOf the realitiesBeat on the brain forever; the high dream,By stratagem of speech,Enters her portals, where she sits supremeAnd silent, pondering each:Weighing and challenging, for weal or woe,All rumors, sending outThe emissaries of her will, that goTo the frontiers about.But most she loves the hour that beauty brings,Of rapture and releaseFrom the crude hunger and the cry of things,The hour of herpeace—When, by the inner light that floods her cell,The spirit, even as here,Travails, in secrecy and joy, to tellHer passion and her fear.Now to the listening soul in you who readThese lines, she tells itall—How dear her day, how dark shall be, indeed,The hour when night must fall.
Here,by this frame and network of the fleshAnd wires of her controlSurrounded, central in her subtle meshAnd secret, sits the soul,Urgent through all the body, while each partObeys, and all areone—While in her dungeons labors the lone heartTo make her will be done.She reins the forces in their wild careerThat bear her, as they go,Over the dark abyss; and knows how sheerReaches the gulf below.How dubious her life and slenderlyHangs, by a scarlet thread,Between eternity andeternity—She guesses, wise in dread;And ever watchful, ever wary, setIn the centre all alone,Feels ’round her cautiously if any threatBe made against the throne.Sometimes along her nerves the voice of painBears tidings to her hateAnd frantic wrath, that the old foe againIs clamorous at thegate—She rages up and down, and to and froIn timid anger runs:If the frontiers be menaced, it is knownAll over, and at once.She hears her breast of sorrows night and dayAt labor; ’round her broodThe old oblivions, where she sits at bay;She hears the battling blood.Echoes assail her from far worlds that lieBeyond the bourne ofthese—Contact and color and the angry cryOf the realitiesBeat on the brain forever; the high dream,By stratagem of speech,Enters her portals, where she sits supremeAnd silent, pondering each:Weighing and challenging, for weal or woe,All rumors, sending outThe emissaries of her will, that goTo the frontiers about.But most she loves the hour that beauty brings,Of rapture and releaseFrom the crude hunger and the cry of things,The hour of herpeace—When, by the inner light that floods her cell,The spirit, even as here,Travails, in secrecy and joy, to tellHer passion and her fear.Now to the listening soul in you who readThese lines, she tells itall—How dear her day, how dark shall be, indeed,The hour when night must fall.
Here,by this frame and network of the fleshAnd wires of her controlSurrounded, central in her subtle meshAnd secret, sits the soul,
Here,by this frame and network of the flesh
And wires of her control
Surrounded, central in her subtle mesh
And secret, sits the soul,
Urgent through all the body, while each partObeys, and all areone—While in her dungeons labors the lone heartTo make her will be done.
Urgent through all the body, while each part
Obeys, and all areone—
While in her dungeons labors the lone heart
To make her will be done.
She reins the forces in their wild careerThat bear her, as they go,Over the dark abyss; and knows how sheerReaches the gulf below.
She reins the forces in their wild career
That bear her, as they go,
Over the dark abyss; and knows how sheer
Reaches the gulf below.
How dubious her life and slenderlyHangs, by a scarlet thread,Between eternity andeternity—She guesses, wise in dread;
How dubious her life and slenderly
Hangs, by a scarlet thread,
Between eternity andeternity—
She guesses, wise in dread;
And ever watchful, ever wary, setIn the centre all alone,Feels ’round her cautiously if any threatBe made against the throne.
And ever watchful, ever wary, set
In the centre all alone,
Feels ’round her cautiously if any threat
Be made against the throne.
Sometimes along her nerves the voice of painBears tidings to her hateAnd frantic wrath, that the old foe againIs clamorous at thegate—
Sometimes along her nerves the voice of pain
Bears tidings to her hate
And frantic wrath, that the old foe again
Is clamorous at thegate—
She rages up and down, and to and froIn timid anger runs:If the frontiers be menaced, it is knownAll over, and at once.
She rages up and down, and to and fro
In timid anger runs:
If the frontiers be menaced, it is known
All over, and at once.
She hears her breast of sorrows night and dayAt labor; ’round her broodThe old oblivions, where she sits at bay;She hears the battling blood.
She hears her breast of sorrows night and day
At labor; ’round her brood
The old oblivions, where she sits at bay;
She hears the battling blood.
Echoes assail her from far worlds that lieBeyond the bourne ofthese—Contact and color and the angry cryOf the realities
Echoes assail her from far worlds that lie
Beyond the bourne ofthese—
Contact and color and the angry cry
Of the realities
Beat on the brain forever; the high dream,By stratagem of speech,Enters her portals, where she sits supremeAnd silent, pondering each:
Beat on the brain forever; the high dream,
By stratagem of speech,
Enters her portals, where she sits supreme
And silent, pondering each:
Weighing and challenging, for weal or woe,All rumors, sending outThe emissaries of her will, that goTo the frontiers about.
Weighing and challenging, for weal or woe,
All rumors, sending out
The emissaries of her will, that go
To the frontiers about.
But most she loves the hour that beauty brings,Of rapture and releaseFrom the crude hunger and the cry of things,The hour of herpeace—
But most she loves the hour that beauty brings,
Of rapture and release
From the crude hunger and the cry of things,
The hour of herpeace—
When, by the inner light that floods her cell,The spirit, even as here,Travails, in secrecy and joy, to tellHer passion and her fear.
When, by the inner light that floods her cell,
The spirit, even as here,
Travails, in secrecy and joy, to tell
Her passion and her fear.
Now to the listening soul in you who readThese lines, she tells itall—How dear her day, how dark shall be, indeed,The hour when night must fall.
Now to the listening soul in you who read
These lines, she tells itall—
How dear her day, how dark shall be, indeed,
The hour when night must fall.