It lies in Heaven, across the flood Around her, lovers, newly met 'Mid deathless love's acclaims, Spoke evermore among themselves Their heart-remember'd names; And the souls mounting up to God Went by her like thin flames. And still she bow'd herself and stoop'd Until her bosom must have made From the fix'd place of Heaven she saw Its path; and now she spoke as when The sun was gone now; the curl'd moon Had when they sang together. (Ah sweet! Even now, in that bird's song, Strove not her accents there, Fain to be hearken'd? When those bells "I wish that he were come to me, For he will come," she said. "Have I not pray'd in Heaven?-on earth, Lord, Lord, 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 cloth'd in white, I'll take his hand and go with him "We two will stand beside that shrine, Occult, withheld, untrod, Whose lamps are stirr'd continually "We two will lie i' the shadow of That living mystic tree Within whose secret growth the Dove Is sometimes felt to be, While every leaf that His plumes touch Saith His Name audibly. "And I myself will teach to him, The songs I sing here; which his voice (Alas! we two, we two, thou say'st! Yea, one wast thou with me That once of old. But shall God lift To endless unity The soul whose likeness with thy soul Was but its love for thee?) "We two," she said, “will seek the groves Where the lady Mary is, With her five handmaidens, whose names "Circlewise sit they, with bound locks Into the fine cloth white like flame "He shall fear, haply, and be dumb : To his, and tell about our love, "Herself shall bring us, hand in hand, Kneel, the clear-ranged unnumber'd 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 She gazed and listen'd and then said, "All this is when he comes." She ceas'd. (I saw her smile.) But soon their path And laid her face between her hands, Yet only this, of love's whole prize Remains; save what, in mournful guise, Takes counsel with my soul alone, Save what is secret and unknown, Below the earth, above the skies. In painting her I shrin'd her face Where you might think to find a din A deep, dim wood; and there she stands And such the pure line's gracious flow. And passing fair the type must seem, Unknown the presence and the dream. 'Tis she though of herself, alas ! Less than her shadow on the grass, Or than her image in the stream. That day we met there, I and she, But when that hour my soul won strength Thunder'd the heat within the hills. That eve I spoke those words again Beside the pelted window-pane; And there she hearken'd what I said, With under-glances that survey'd The empty pastures blind with rain. Next day the memories of these things, Like leaves through which a bird has flown, Still vibrated with Love's warm wings; Till I must make them all my own She stood among the plants in bloom WHEN do I see thee most, beloved one? Or when, in the dusk hours (we two alone), Nor image of thine eyes in any spring, - ing slope |