"Much more, if first I floated free, As naked essence, must I be Incompetent of memory: "For memory dealing but with time, And he with matter, could she climb Beyond her own material prime? "Moreover, something is or seems, That touches me with mystic gleams, Like glimpses of forgotten dreams— "Of something felt, like something here; Of something done, I know not where ; Such as no language may declare." The still voice laugh'd. "I talk," said he, "Not with thy dreams. Suffice it thee Thy pain is a reality." "But thou," said I, "hast miss'd thy mark, Who sought'st to wreck my mortal ark, By making all the horizon dark. This rashness, that which might ensue X 2 "Whatever crazy sorrow saith, No life that breathes with human breath Has ever truly long'd for death. "'Tis life, whereof our nerves are scant, Oh life, not death, for which we pant; More life, and fuller, that I want." I ceased, and sat as one forlorn. Then said the voice, in quiet scorn, "Behold, it is the Sabbath morn." And I arose, and I released The casement, and the light increased Like soften'd airs that blowing steal, On to God's house the people prest : Passing the place where each must rest, Each enter'd like a welcome guest. One walk'd between his wife and child, With measured footfall firm and mild, And now and then he gravely smiled. The prudent partner of his blood Lean'd on him, faithful, gentle, good, Wearing the rose of womanhood. And in their double love secure, These three made unity so sweet, I blest them, and they wander'd on : A second voice was at mine ear, As from some blissful neighbourhood, A notice faintly understood, "I see the end, and know the good." A little hint to solace woe, A hint, a whisper breathing low, "I may not speak of what I know" Like an Æolian harp that wakes Far thought with music that it makes : Such seem'd the whisper at my side : "What is it thou knowest, sweet voice?" I cried. "A hidden hope," the voice replied: So heavenly-toned, that in that hour To feel, altho' no tongue can prove, And forth into the fields I went, I wonder'd at the bounteous hours, You scarce could see the grass for flowers. I wonder'd, while I paced along : The woods were fill'd so full with song, |