At a Window

This is the window at which she read,
That day in June when the heat-mist rose,
Veiling the light of the sun o'erhead, —
The poem my heart the loveliest knows.
And here I sat at her feet, and fed
My soul with the exquisite present, and said,
"The future may give, it may take away,
But she, she is with me one whole June day."

She read, I listened, and oft there came
The roses' scent from the paths below;
My lips inaudibly named her name.
And, so great did the passionate worship grow.
It seemed I must weep to quench the flame.
Kindling and thrilling through all my frame;
When her voice in compassionate music folded
The thoughts my heart to its longings moulded.

And here, one twilight in summer, too,
I who had dreamed of her all the day,
Hearing the exquisite voice come through
The music of Nature, — striving to say
A part of my love in lays I knew
That her spirit should one day own for true, —
Was suddenly, rapturously made aware
That she I dreamed of was with me there.

She bade me tell her my rhymes, and so
I told them over, her mood to please;
My heart was full, and my voice was low,
I knew she would speak, when my voice should cease.
She spoke: one minute I seemed to know,
All my life might be, if her life could flow
As one with mine, till the end were attained,
All grief and joy done with, the great rest gained.

And here I sit by myself to-night.
Utterly lonely, hopeless of heaven;
Hearing no voice, discerning no light.
Were not my life and my life's love given
Into her keeping, my sole delight? —
And now she is far out of reach, out of sight,
What deed shall I do, what word shall I say?
What song shall I sing, and what prayer shall I pray?

"Dream thou no dream, though thy sleep be long;"
To her I will say, "sleep fast, and well,
I — I will turn from the great world's wrong.
Henceforward, alone with my grief to dwell.
I will pray to Love, I will sing a song
That love shall keep pure, and passion make strong.
And the song thus born of my love shall be,
The star of my lady's divinity."