CXX. OH, wast thou with me, dearest, then, And yearn'd to burst the folded gloom, To bare the eternal Heavens again, To feel once more, in placid awe, A sphere of stars about my soul, If thou wert with me, and the grave And enter in at breast and brow, Till all my blood, a fuller wave, Be quicken'd with a livelier breath, I slip the thoughts of life and death; And all the breeze of Fancy blows, And every dew-drop paints a bow; The wizard lightnings deeply glow, And every thought breaks out a rose. CXXI. THERE rolls the deep where grew the tree. There where the long street roars, hath been The stillness of the central sea. The hills are shadows, and they flow From form to form, and nothing stands ; They melt like mist, the solid lands, Like clouds they shape themselves and go. But in my spirit will I dwell, And dream my dream, and hold it true; CXXII. THAT which we dare invoke to bless ; Our dearest faith; our ghastliest doubt; He, They, One, All; within, without; The Power in darkness whom we guess; I found Him not in world or sun, Or eagle's wing, or insect's eye; If e'er when faith had fall'n asleep, I heard a voice believe no more And heard an ever-breaking shore That tumbled in the Godless deep; A warmth within the breast would melt Stood up and answer'd I have felt.' |