1828-1882
The blessed Damozel lean'd out
From
the gold bar of Heaven:
Her blue grave eyes were deeper much
Than a deep water, even.
She had three lilies in her hand,
And
the stars in her hair were seven.
Her robe, ungirt from clasp to hem,
No wrought flowers did
adorn,
But a white rose of Mary's gift
On the neck meetly worn;
And her hair, lying down her back,
Was yellow like ripe
corn.
Herseem'd she scarce had been a day
One of God's choristers;
The wonder was not yet quite gone
From that still look of
hers;
Albeit, to them she left, her day
Had counted as ten years.
(To one it is ten years of years:
...Yet now, here in this
place,
Surely she lean'd o'er me,--her hair
Fell all about my
face....
Nothing: the Autumn-fall of leaves.
The whole year sets
apace.)
It was the terrace of God's house
That she was standing
on,--
By God built over the sheer depth
In which Space is begun;
So high, that looking downward thence,
She scarce could see the
sun.
It lies from Heaven across the flood
Of
ether, as a bridge.
Beneath, the tides of day and night
With
flame and darkness ridge
The void, as low as where this earth
Spins like a fretful
midge.
But in those tracts, with her, it was
The
peace of utter light
And silence. For no breeze may stir
Along
the steady flight
Of seraphim; no echo there,
Beyond all depth or
height.
Heard hardly, some of her new friends,
Playing at holy games,
Spake gentle-mouth'd, among
themselves,
Their virginal chaste
names;
And the souls, mounting up to God,
Went by her like thin
flames.
And still she bow'd herself, and stoop'd
Into the vast waste calm;
Till her bosom's pressure must have made
The bar she lean'd on warm,
And the lilies lay as if asleep
Along her bended arm.
From the fixt lull of Heaven, she saw
Time, like a pulse, shake
fierce
Through all the worlds. Her gaze still strove,
In
that steep gulf, to pierce
The swarm; and then she spoke, as when
The stars sang in their
spheres.
'I wish that he were come to me,
For
he will come,' she said.
'Have I not pray'd in solemn Heaven?
On earth, has he not pray'd?
Are not two prayers a perfect strength?
And shall I feel afraid?
'When round his head the aureole clings,
And
he is clothed in white,
I'll take his hand, and go with him
To the deep wells of
light,
And we will step down as to a stream
And bathe there in God's
sight.
'We two will stand beside that shrine,
Occult, withheld, untrod,
Whose lamps tremble continually
With prayer sent up to
God;
And where each need, reveal'd, expects
Its patient period.
'We two will lie i' the shadow of
That living mystic tree
Within whose secret growth the Dove
Sometimes is felt to be,
While every leaf that His plumes touch
Saith
His name audibly.
'And I myself will teach to him,--
I myself, lying so,--
The songs I sing here; which his mouth
Shall pause in, hush'd and slow,
Finding some knowledge at each pause,
And some new thing to
know.'
(Alas! to her wise simple mind
These things were all but
known
Before: they trembled on her sense,--
Her voice had caught
their tone.
Alas for lonely Heaven! Alas
For life wrung out alone!
Alas, and though the end were reach'd?...
Was thy part understood
Or borne in trust? And for her sake
Shall this too be found
good?--
May the close lips that knew not prayer
Praise ever, though they
would?)
'We two,' she said, 'will seek the groves
Where the lady Mary is,
With her five handmaidens, whose names
Are five sweet symphonies:--
Cecily, Gertrude, Magdalen,
Margaret and Rosalys.
'Circle-wise sit they, with bound locks
And
bosoms covered;
Into the fine cloth, white like flame,
Weaving the golden
thread,
To fashion the birth-robes for them
Who are just born, being
dead.
'He shall fear, haply, and be dumb.
Then I will lay my cheek
To his, and tell about our love,
Not once abash'd or weak:
And the dear Mother will approve
My pride, and let me
speak.
'Herself shall bring us, hand in hand,
To Him round whom all
souls
Kneel--the unnumber'd solemn heads
Bow'd
with their aureoles:
And Angels, meeting us, shall sing
To their citherns and citoles.
'There will I ask of Christ the Lord
Thus much for him and
me:--
To have more blessing than on earth
In
nowise; but to be
As then we were,--being as then
At peace. Yea, verily.
'Yea, verily; when he is come
We
will do thus and thus:
Till this my vigil seem quite strange
And almost fabulous;
We two will live at once, one life;
And peace shall be with
us.'
She gazed, and listen'd, and then said,
Less sad of speech than
mild,--
'All this is when he comes.' She ceased:
The light thrill'd past her, fill'd
With Angels, in strong level lapse.
Her eyes pray'd, and she smiled.
(I saw her smile.) But soon their flight
Was
vague 'mid the poised spheres.
And then she cast her arms along
The
golden barriers,
And laid her face between her hands,
And wept. (I heard her
tears.)
(From: http://www.daypoems.net/poems/720.html)