Open, Sesame

So low swings the broad gold moon I could clasp her — nearly ;
Up to the brow of the down, and an arm's length merely —
Only a span — yet she mounts, while I pause and wonder,
Chill and remote as the thin white clouds beyond her.

So simple the charmed word ! could almost say it ;
The glimmering dusk, the dew-fall, half betray it ;
Half— yet the silence holds her spell unspoken,
Mute, while the moment fades estranged and broken.

Almost I tread the twilight fields of faery,
Almost I pluck their blossoms frail and airy,
E'en though the spoil doth turn, home-coming hither,
Armfuls of yellowing leaves and weeds that wither.

Held to the earth's full heart, an instant wholly,
Know we nor fear nor fret, but gladness solely ;
Joy in our part in all — in life's possession,
Joy in the Joy of Life beyond expression.

Joy in the task beloved though unavailing,
Joy in the splendid steeps too high for scaling ;
Joy in the fleeting glimpse, the vain endeavour,
Though Almost meadows flower by the gates of Never.