_A CHILD ASLEEP._

I.

How he sleepeth, having drunken Weary childhood's mandragore!

From its pretty eyes have sunken Pleasures to make room for more; Sleeping near the withered nosegay which he pulled the day before.

II.

Nosegays! leave them for the waking; Throw them earthward where they grew; Dim are such beside the breaking Amaranths he looks unto: Folded eyes see brighter colours than the open ever do.

III.

Heaven-flowers, rayed by shadows golden From the palms they sprang beneath, Now perhaps divinely holden, Swing against him in a wreath: We may think so from the quickening of his bloom and of his breath.

IV.

Vision unto vision calleth While the young child dreameth on: Fair, O dreamer, thee befalleth With the glory thou hast won!

Darker wast thou in the garden yestermorn by summer sun.

V.

We should see the spirits ringing Round thee, were the clouds away: 'T is the child-heart draws them, singing In the silent-seeming clay-- Singing! stars that seem the mutest go in music all the way.

VI.

As the moths around a taper, As the bees around a rose, As the gnats around a vapour, So the spirits group and close Round about a holy childhood as if drinking its repose.

VII.

Shapes of brightness overlean thee, Flash their diadems of youth On the ringlets which half screen thee, While thou smilest ... not in sooth _Thy_ smile, but the overfair one, dropt from some etherial mouth.

VIII.

Haply it is angels' duty, During slumber, shade by shade To fine down this childish beauty To the thing it must be made Ere the world shall bring it praises, or the tomb shall see it fade.

IX.

Softly, softly! make no noises!

Now he lieth dead and dumb; Now he hears the angels' voices Folding silence in the room Now he muses deep the meaning of the Heaven-words as they come.

X.

Speak not! he is consecrated; Breathe no breath across his eyes: Lifted up and separated On the hand of G.o.d he lies In a sweetness beyond touching, held in cloistral sanct.i.ties.

XI.

Could ye bless him, father--mother, Bless the dimple in his cheek?

Dare ye look at one another And the benediction speak?

Would ye not break out in weeping and confess yourselves too weak?

XII.

He is harmless, ye are sinful; Ye are troubled, he at ease; From his slumber virtue winful Floweth outward with increase.

Dare not bless him! but be blessed by his peace, and go in peace.

_THE FOURFOLD ASPECT._

I.

When ye stood up in the house With your little childish feet, And, in touching Life's first shows, First the touch of Love did meet,-- Love and Nearness seeming one, By the heartlight cast before, And of all Beloveds, none Standing farther than the door; Not a name being dear to thought, With its owner beyond call; Not a face, unless it brought Its own shadow to the wall; When the worst recorded change Was of apple dropt from bough, When love's sorrow seemed more strange Than love's treason can seem now;-- Then, the Loving took you up Soft, upon their elder knees, Telling why the statues droop Underneath the churchyard trees, And how ye must lie beneath them Through the winters long and deep, Till the last trump overbreathe them, And ye smile out of your sleep.

Oh, ye lifted up your head, and it seemed as if they said A tale of fairy ships With a swan-wing for a sail; Oh, ye kissed their loving lips For the merry merry tale-- So carelessly ye thought upon the Dead!

II.

Soon ye read in solemn stories Of the men of long ago, Of the pale bewildering glories Shining farther than we know; Of the heroes with the laurel, Of the poets with the bay, Of the two worlds' earnest quarrel For that beauteous Helena; How Achilles at the portal Of the tent heard footsteps nigh, And his strong heart, half-immortal, Met the _keitai_ with a cry; How Ulysses left the sunlight For the pale eidola race Blank and pa.s.sive through the dun light, Staring blindly in his face; How that true wife said to Poetus, With calm smile and wounded heart, "Sweet, it hurts not!" How Admetus Saw his blessed one depart; How King Arthur proved his mission, And Sir Roland wound his horn, And at Sangreal's moony vision Swords did bristle round like corn.

Oh, ye lifted up your head, and it seemed, the while ye read, That this Death, then, must be found A Valhalla for the crowned, The heroic who prevail: None, be sure can enter in Far below a paladin Of a n.o.ble n.o.ble tale-- So awfully ye thought upon the Dead!

III.

Ay, but soon ye woke up shrieking, As a child that wakes at night From a dream of sisters speaking In a garden's summer-light,-- That wakes, starting up and bounding, In a lonely lonely bed, With a wall of darkness round him, Stifling black about his head!

And the full sense of your mortal Rushed upon you deep and loud, And ye heard the thunder hurtle From the silence of the cloud.

Funeral-torches at your gateway Threw a dreadful light within.

All things changed: you rose up straightway, And saluted Death and Sin.

Since, your outward man has rallied, And your eye and voice grown bold; Yet the Sphinx of Life stands pallid, With her saddest secret told.

Happy places have grown holy: If ye went where once ye went, Only tears would fall down slowly, As at solemn sacrament.

Merry books, once read for pastime, If ye dared to read again, Only memories of the last time Would swim darkly up the brain.

Household names, which used to flutter Through your laughter unawares,-- G.o.d's Divinest ye could utter With less trembling in your prayers.

Ye have dropt adown your head, and it seems as if ye tread On your own hearts in the path Ye are called to in His wrath, And your prayers go up in wail --"Dost Thou see, then, all our loss, O Thou agonized on cross?

Art thou reading all its tale?"

So mournfully ye think upon the Dead!

IV.

Pray, pray, thou who also weepest, And the drops will slacken so.

Weep, weep, and the watch thou keepest With a quicker count will go.

Think: the shadow on the dial For the nature most undone, Marks the pa.s.sing of the trial, Proves the presence of the sun.

Look, look up, in starry pa.s.sion, To the throne above the spheres: Learn: the spirit's gravitation Still must differ from the tear's.

Hope: with all the strength thou usest In embracing thy despair.

Love: the earthly love thou losest Shall return to thee more fair.

Work: make clear the forest-tangles Of the wildest stranger-land Trust: the blessed deathly angels Whisper, "Sabbath hours at hand!"

By the heart's wound when most gory, By the longest agony, Smile! Behold in sudden glory The TRANSFIGURED smiles on _thee_!

And ye lifted up your head, and it seemed as if He said, "My Beloved, is it so?