Weeds by the Wall Part 15

The face of a girl whose brow was wan, To whom the kind sun spoke at dawn, And a star and the moon when the day was gone.

And oft and often the sun had said-- "O fair, white face, O sweet, fair head, Come talk with me of the love that's dead."

And she would sit in the sun awhile, Down in the garth by the old stone-dial, Where never again would he make her smile.

And often the first bright star o'erhead Had whispered, "Sweet, where the rose blooms red, Come look with me for the love that's dead."

And she would wait with the star she knew, Where the fountain splashed and the roses blew, Where never again would he come to woo.

And oft the moon, when she lay in bed, Had sighed, "Dear heart, in the orchardstead.

Come, dream with me of the love that's dead."

And she would stand in the moon, the dim, Where the fruit made heavy the apple limb, Where never again would she dream with him.

So summer pa.s.sed and the autumn came; And the wind-torn boughs were touched with flame; But her life and her sorrow remained the same.

Or, if she changed, as it comes about A life may change through trouble and doubt,-- As a candle flickers and then goes out,--

'Twas only to grow more quiet and wan, Sadly waiting at dusk and at dawn For the coming of love forever gone.

And so, one night, when the star looked in, It kissed her face that was white and thin, And murmured, "Come! thou free of sin!"

And when the moon, on another night, Beheld her lying still and white, It sighed, "'Tis well! now all is right."

And when one morning the sun arose, And they bore her bier down the garden-close, It touched her, saying, "At last, repose."

And they laid her down, so young and fair, Where the gra.s.s was withered, the bough was bare, All wrapped in the light of her golden hair....

So autumn pa.s.sed and the winter went; And spring, like a blue-eyed penitent, Came, telling her beads of blossom and scent.

And, lo! to the grave of the beautiful The strong sun cried, "Why art thou dull?

Awake! awake! Forget thy skull!"

And the evening star and the moon above Called out, "O dust, now speak thereof!

Proclaim thyself! Arise, O love!"

And the skull and the dust in the darkness beard.

Each icy germ in its cerements stirred, As Lazarus moved at the Lord's loud word.

And a flower arose on the mound of green, White as the robe of the Nazarene; To testify of the life unseen.

And I paused by the grave; then went my way: And it seemed that I heard the lily say-- "Here was a miracle wrought to-day."

THE END OF THE CENTURY.

There are moments when, as missions, G.o.d reveals to us strange visions; When, within their separate stations, We may see the Centuries, Like revolving constellations Shaping out Earth's destinies.

I have gazed in Time's abysses, Where no smallest thing Earth misses That was hers once. 'Mid her chattels, There the Past's gigantic ghost Sits and dreams of thrones and battles In the night of ages lost.

Far before her eyes, unholy Mist was spread; that darkly, slowly Rolled aside,--like some huge curtain Hung above the land and sea;-- And beneath it, wild, uncertain, Rose the wraiths of memory.

First I saw colossal spectres Of dead cities: Troy--once Hector's Pride; then Babylon and Tyre; Karnac, Carthage, and the gray Walls of Thebes,--Apollo's lyre Built;--and Rome and Nineveh.

Empires followed: first, in seeming, Old Chaldea lost in dreaming; Egypt next, a bulk Memnonian Staring from her pyramids; Then a.s.syria, Babylonian Night beneath her h.e.l.l-lit lids.

Greece, in cla.s.sic white, sidereal Armored; Rome, in dark, imperial Purple, crowned with blood and fire, Down the deeps barbaric strode; Gaul and Britain stalking by her, Skin-clad and tattooed with woad.

All around them, rent and scattered, Lay their G.o.ds with features battered, Brute and human, stone and iron, Caked with gems and gnarled with gold; Temples, that did once environ These, in wreck around them rolled.

While I stood and gazed and waited, Slowly night obliterated All; and other phantoms drifted Out of darkness pale as stars; Shapes that tyrant faces lifted, Sultans, kings, and emperors.

Man and steed in ponderous metal Panoplied, they seemed to settle, Condors gaunt of devastation, On the world: behind their march-- Desolation; conflagration Loomed before them with her torch.

Helmets flamed like fearful flowers; Chariots rose and moving towers; Captains pa.s.sed; each fierce commander With his gauntlet on his sword: Agamemnon, Alexander, Caesar, each led on his horde.

Huns and Vandals; wild invaders: Goths and Arabs; stern Crusaders: Each, like some terrific torrent, Rolled above a ruined world; Till a cataract abhorrent Seemed the swarming spears uphurled.

Banners and escutcheons, kindled By the light of slaughter, dwindled-- in darkness;--the chimera Of the Past was laid at last.

But, behold, another era From her corpse rose, vague and vast.

Demogorgon of the Present!

Who in one hand raised a Crescent, In the other, with submissive Fingers, lifted up a Cross; Reverent and yet derisive Seemed she, robed in gold and dross.

In her skeptic eyes professions Of great faith I saw; expressions, Christian and humanitarian, Played around her cynic lip; Still I knew her a barbarian By the sword upon her hip.

And she cherished strange eidolons, Pagan shadows--Platos, Solons-- From whose teachings she indentured Forms of law and sophistry; Seeking still for truth she ventured Just so far as these could see.

When she vanished, I--uplifting Eyes to where the dawn was rifting Darkness,--lo! beheld a shadow Towering on Earth's utmost peaks; 'Round whom morning's eldorado Rivered gold in blinding streaks.

On her brow I saw the stigma Still of death; and life's enigma Filled her eyes: around her s.h.i.+mmered Folds of silence; and afar, Faint above her forehead, glimmered Lone the light of one pale star.

Then a voice,--above or under Earth,--against her seemed to thunder Questions, wherein was repeated, "Christ or Cain?" and "G.o.d or beast?"

And the Future, shadowy-sheeted, Turning, pointed towards the East.

THE ISLE OF VOICES.

The wind blew free that morn that we, High-hearted, sailed away; Bound for Favonian islands blest, Remote within the utmost West, Beyond the golden day.

There, we were told, each dream of old, Each deed and dream of youth, Each myth of life's divinest prime, And every romance, dear to time, Put on immortal truth.

The love undone, the aim unwon, The hope that turned despair; The thought unborn; the dream that died; The unattained, unsatisfied, Should be accomplished there.