To Her Who Shall Come

1

Out of the night of lovelessness I call
Thee, as, in a chill chamber where no ray
Of unbelievable light and freedom fall,
Might cry one manacled! And tho' the way
Thou'lt come I cannot see; tho' my heart's sore
With emptiness when morning's silent gray
Wakes me to long aloneness; yet I know
Thou hast been with me, who like dawn wilt go
Beside me, when I have found thee, evermore!

2

So in the garden of my heart each day
I plant thee a flower. Now the pansy, peace,
And now the lily, faith--or now a spray
Of the climbing ivy, hope. And they ne'er cease
Around the still unblossoming rose of love
To bend in fragrant tribute to her sway.
Then--for thy shelter from life's sultrier suns,
The oak of strength I set o'er joy that runs
With brooklet glee from winds that grieve above.

3

But where now art thou? Watching with love's eye
The eve-star wander? Listening through dim trees
Some thrilled muezzin of the forest cry
From his leafy minaret? Or by the sea's
Blue brim, while the spectral moon half o'er it hangs
Like the faery isle of Avalon, do these
My yearnings speak to thee of days thy feet
Have never trod?--Sweet, sweet, oh, sealing sweet,
My own, must be our meeting's mystic pangs.

4

And will be soon! For last night near to day,
Dreaming, God called me thro' the space-built sphere
Of heaven and said, "Come, waiting one, and lay
Thine ear unto my Heart--there thou shall hear
The secrets of this world where evils war."
Such things I heard as must rend mortal clay
To tell, and trembled--till God, pitying,
Said, "Listen" ... Oh, my love, I heard thee sing
Out of thy window to the morning star!