Classic and Contemporary Poetry
DOMINUS VINAEAE; SPIRITUS AGRICOLA, by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH Poet's Biography First Line: Once more among our archangelic hills Last Line: Let not that light go out. Subject(s): Seelye, Laurenus Clark (1837-1924); Smith College | ||||||||
Once more among our archangelic hills The streets of this old, grave, and gracious town Throb with renewing vigor as when Spring Rushes upon the forest and through it spills Her ancient rapture. Now the campus thrills With feet that run and voices that sing. It is the College in her burgeoning! Happy are we Returning homeward that we still can see In the old places The tenderly remembered kindly faces Of those who taught us wisdom in our youth; In faith established, having made plain the truth Of beautiful friendship, honorably proved; Yes, in a chastened and a lofty mood Of thoughtful gratitude Seeing once more in the accustomed ways Him whom we come to praise, Presence revered and loved. Ever among life's solemn things Are such rejoicings. Beneath the laughter and the song there fall Rich silences, And stronger cadences, And deeper voices call "Ending is here " -- and cycles new and strange Sweep through the air a solemn undertone. Deeper than depth beneath all things are blown The rushings of the invisible wings of change. Not ours to know His deep rejoicings When with strict vigilance and with secret pains He turned to visible gains Hard and invisible things. Not ours the solemn splendor of those wings That in his sombre vigils of the night Seized him with visions excellently bright. Not ours the speechless grievings, The glorious believings, When with a glad surmise He saw the future with prophetic eyes. Not ours to know, During laborious years, The downcast moment or with what aching need He watched upon the bursting of the seed; Nor the interior spiritual tears That are the bitter waterings Of all heroic things; Nor amid what savor of his midnight prayer The Spirit came upon him with a mood That drove him forth into the solitude Of sleepless, holy watching. And he went. And beholding a vision wonderfully fair He wrestled with the Lord before the tent. But ours is the harvesting, The joyous bringing-in, The drinking of the wine That is the vintage of his thought benign. Ours is the glory won! What ritual shall be done? What shall be said? Ye feasters upon bread Made of nutritious grain, The very kernel of his faith and pain! Upon this day There is accomplished a great deed, A beautiful fruition From the small sowing of an early seed. Behold, a work is brought into completion. Let us rejoice, for we have need I say, Of every praiseful speech and loving word, Knowing that when night falls upon this town A good man has laid down His fruits upon the table of the Lord. Behold the Pioneer! Stout-hearted, with keen eyes, of vision clear, A natural searcher for such land as lies In distant seas and under alien skies. Would I might trace The courtly quaintness and the austere grace, The angelic shrewdness of that kindly face, Inscribed with characters, as if lightning-struck God's gracious scripture was engraved on rock. A son of our New England stock, Serene, high-souled, and exquisitely plain As mountain air is, after a cold rain! But yet with no severity In his sweet austerity! So charitably mild I think that any child Would run to meet him if he only smiled! I like to muse On his first simple strenuous days And the high-hearted girls that greatly kept Their great companionships With sages, prophets, poets. With what glad eyes They tripped, girl-wise, Through many a blossoming Paradise! In flower-sweet vales where dreaming Pindar slept The bees left honey on their lips. In classic porticos of thought, By Grecian boys befriended, With lofty speech and young imaginings They jealously attended High counsels held on spiritual things, Angelic -- human. Still by mankind forbidden, they eagerly sought What Diotima unto Plato taught And Socrates learned from a mystic Woman. Yes -- it should be our glory and elation That among the earliest women of this nation They vowed themselves to that great exploration. How many a girl has set Her face against the unhuman wind that blows From the imperishable snows Of mathematical glaciers and beheld Such fierce auroral splendors as not yet Have shown in gentler climates, but flash forth Out of the frozen north Of ultimate thought that has not any pole; Or has explored the regions of the soul And from some philosophic precipice Has swept Her innocent vision over the dark abyss Of mortal night; With spirit lowly And with dreaming eyes Has guarded well the sight Of visions lovely and holy, And half a child, in solitude, has kept Her solemn watch beneath the infinite skies. Look -- we arise Before the eider daughters gathered here. Scanning young faces with gaze steady and clear They search them and require A spiritual accounting and a just. "How have ye answered to the sacred trust? Before the lamps we lighted have ye slept? Have ye forsook the service? or have ye kept Your spirits constant and your minds austere? Out of our vessels have ye spilt the wine? Are ye troubled with a spiritual yearning? Are ye dream-enchanted? What are your visions? Are your souls star-haunted? Speak, in the fennel is the fire still burning? Is the incense good? Is the fragrance pungent and fine? What prayers do ye breathe over it? Ye unknown daughters of this generation, In sacred places is the service fit? And with the old mysterious elation, Ye younger vestals, have ye kept the shrine? Oh, is the flame upon our altars lit?" Last night among our academic trees Gleamed golden bubbles, globes of scarlet light, Blue stars, and moons diaphanously white, As if great comets blew through our mortal night A fiery and a planetary seed. Then was there laughter and such sights indeed As once we never dreamed. It seemed As if the altar spirit had been spent In delirious merriment. Amid the ancient failing of the dew Flashed spirits white, the very maddest crew That ever charmed the grass with dances new. Like morning stars singing in the deep skies! With silvery halloo and gracious cries Of friendship! Why, in such a magic air, One looked no more for any mortal thing, But for such faery pageants as were seen When Vivian dressed in green Charmed Wisdom into strange imagining. Then, as of gay and friendly fauns, Were daintiest skippings on the lawns, Bright screams and singing calls Of innocent Bacchanals, While through the darkness in delicious swirls, Sport beguiled, Delicately wild, Swept lightly frenzied girls. Sedulously the elders catechize, But to the watchful query of their eyes Gaze back young eyes as clear. "Before the lamps ye lighted we have not slept. Still, still do we behold with ritual lowly Visions and things unutterably holy, And with strict pain and vigilance have kept Our spirits constant and our minds austere. Even as of old our spiritual waters Are troubled with the angels. Oh, believe! Now, as of old, communing with His daughters God walks among these gardens in the eve." Now, as of old! Still do the orchard trees Bear fruits for ardent girls. In Paradise Forget-me-nots still look with childlike eyes. To the intimate skies Point familiar towers. It is no alien grace That mocks from a strange face. Unspeakably ours! But the old Spirit, with influence divine, Is worshipped still upon this mystic shrine. Happy are they who in their youth inherit That vast and lovely Spirit To whom our steps are led -- The invisible, scarce dreamed of, superhuman, The Ultimate Woman -- The moon of Heaven is underneath Her feet And twelve bright stars are orbed about Her head. Oh, let it on this day of him be said, He had the sight, The interior vision, and he saw such things, As John the Beloved dreamed on. And he came, And raised a holy altar in the night, And that Her presence should be known by flame He set upon Her shrine an eternal light. So did the Seer remind us, Lest the new morning blind us, That beauty and youth and youth's own spiritual yearning, All loves and aspirations, Hard labors and elations, All passionate learning, Should be the oil to that holy burning. Wherefore let us wisdom take And of it make A garment innocent and fair Radiant as the early air. Let us turn it into Spring: Out of ancient, alien dust Wake a joyous blossoming; With a heart of ardent trust Refreshing earth with untouched dew, Cultures exquisite and new, Praising him, if praise we can, That in a time when men on Customs lean, By a great man, Womanhood has been beautifully seen. Oh man of battles! Hero in God's sight! Zealous fighter for the right, Stout wielder of the sword, Lover of things desirable and hard! How beautiful he goes! As graciously as a rose Unfolds its sweetness to a larger light! The work achieved and with the Lord put by, He goes to other deeds, Fulfilling unseen needs, To greatnesses hard and high. By his influence benign, And by his battles at the great redoubt, By his purged and chastened sight, That saw a Woman raised upon the night -- Oh by his faith divine, And the pure flame he set upon Her shrine, Let not that light go out. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONGS FOR MY MOTHER: 2. HER HANDS by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH SONGS FOR MY MOTHER: 3. HER WORDS by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH THE MONK IN THE KITCHEN by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH A FOREIGN TONGUE by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH A GIRL'S SONG IN THE WILDERNESS by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH A MOTHER'S SONG by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH A SONNET FOR THE EARTH by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH BABEL FALLS by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH CLOD OF THE EARTH by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH CONNECTICUT ROAD SONG by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH |
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