Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, AVALON, by THOMAS HOLLEY CHIVERS



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AVALON, by             Poet's Biography
First Line: Death's pale cold orb has turned to an eclipse
Last Line: Oh! Avalon! My son! My son!


"I will open my dark saying upon the Harp." -- DAVID.

"All thy waves and billows are gone over me. I sink in
deep mire where there is no standing!" -- PSALMS.

"There be tears of perfect moan
Wept for thee in Helicon." -- MILTON.

I
Death's pale cold orb has turned to an eclipse
My Son of Love!
The worms are feeding on thy lily-lips,
My milk-white Dove!
Pale purple tinges thy soft finger-tips!

While nectar thy pure soul in glory sips,
As Death's cold frost mine own forever nips!
Where thou art lying
Beside the beautiful undying
In the Valley of the pausing of the Moon,
Oh! AVALON! my son! my son!

II
Wake up, oh! AVALON! my son! my son!
And come from Death!
Heave off the clod that lies so heavy on
Thy breast beneath
In that cold grave, my more than Precious One!
And come to me! for I am here alone --
With none to comfort me! -- my hopes are gone
Where thou art lying
Beside the beautiful undying
In the Valley of the pausing of the Moon,
Oh! AVALON! my son! my son!

III
Forever more must I, on this damp sod,
Renew and keep
My Covenant of Sorrows with my God,
And weep, weep, weep!
Writhing in pain beneath Death's iron rod!
Till I shall go to that DIVINE ABODE --
Treading the path that thy dear feet have trod --
Where thou art lying
Beside the beautiful undying
In the Valley of the pausing of the Moon,
Oh! AVALON! my son! my son!

IV
Oh! precious Saviour! gracious heavenly Lord!
Refresh my soul!
Here, with the healings of thy heavenly Word,
Make my heart whole!
My little Lambs are scattered now abroad
In Death's dark Valley, where they bleat unheard!
Dear Shepherd! give their Shepherd his reward
Where they are lying
Beside the beautiful undying
In the Valley of the pausing of the Moon,
With AVALON! my son! my son!

V
For thou didst tread with fire-ensandaled feet,
Star-crowned, forgiven,
The burning diapason of the stars so sweet,
To God in Heaven!
And, walking on the sapphire-paven street,
Didst take upon the highest Sill thy seat --
Waiting in glory there my soul to meet,
When I am lying
Beside the beautiful undying
In the Valley of the pausing of the Moon,
Oh! AVALON! my son! my son!

VI
Thou wert my Micro-Uranos below --
My Little Heaven!
My Micro-Cosmos in this world of wo,
From morn till even!
A living Lyre of God who charmed me so
With thy sweet songs, that I did seem to go
Out of this world where thou art shining now,
But without lying
Beside the beautiful undying
In the Valley of the pausing of the Moon,
Oh! AVALON! my son! my son!

VII
Thou wert my son of Melody alway,
Oh! Child Divine!
Whose golden radiance filled the world with Day!
For thou didst shine
A lustrous Diadem of Song for aye,
Whose Divertisments, through Heaven's Holyday,
Now ravish Angel's ears -- as well they may --
While I am crying
Beside the beautiful undying
In the Valley of the pausing of the Moon,
Oh! AVALON! my son! my son!

VIII
Thy soul did soar up to the Gates of God,
Oh! Lark-like Child!
And through Heaven's Bowers of Bliss, by Angels trod,
Poured Wood-notes wild!
In emulation of that Bird, which stood,
In solemn silence, listening to thy flood
Of golden Melody deluge the wood
Where thou art lying
Beside the beautiful undying
In the Valley of the pausing of the Moon,
Oh! AVALON! my son! my son!

IX
Throughout the Spring-time of Eternity,
Oh! AVALON!
Paeans of thy selectest melody
Pour forth, dear Son!
Clapping thy snow-white hands incessantly,
Amid Heaven's Bowers of Bliss in ecstasy --
The odor of thy song inviting me
Where thou art lying
Beside the beautiful undying
In the Valley of the pausing of the Moon,
Oh! AVALON! my son! my son!

X
The redolent quintessence of thy tongue,
Oh! AVALON!
Embowered by Angels Heaven's sweet Bowers among --
Many in one --
Is gathered from the choicest of the throng,
In an AEonian Hymn forever young,
Thou Philomelian Eclecticist of Song!
While I am sighing
Beside the beautiful undying
In the Valley of the pausing of the Moon,
For AVALON! my son! my son!

XI
Here lies dear Florence with her golden hair,
And violet eyes;
Whom God, because she was for earth too fair,
Took to the skies!
With whom my Zilly only could compare --
Or Eugene Percy, who was debonair,
And rivaled each in every thing most rare!
These now are lying
Beside the beautiful undying
In the Valley of the pausing of the Moon,
With AVALON! my son! my son!

XII
Her eyes were like two Violets bathed in dew
From morn till even --
The modest Myrtle's blossom-Angel blue,
And full of Heaven.
Up to the golden gates of God she flew,
To grow in glory as on earth she grew,
Heaven's own primeval joys again to view --
While I am crying
Beside the beautiful undying
In the Valley of the pausing of the Moon,
Oh! AVALON! my son! my son!

XIII
The Violet of her soul-suffused eyes
Was like that flower
Which blows its purple trumpet at the skies
For Dawn's first hour --
The Morning-glory at the first sunrise,
Nipt by Death's frost with all her glorious dyes!
For Florence rests where my dear Lily lies --
Where thou art lying
Beside the beautiful undying
In the Valley of the pausing of the Moon,
Oh! AVALON! my son! my son!

XIV
Four little Angels killed by one cold Death
To make God glad!
Four Cherubs gone to God, the best he hath --
And all I had!
Taken together, as if in His wrath,
While walking, singing, on Hope's flowery path --
Breathing out gladness at each odorous breath --
Now they are lying
Beside the beautiful undying
In the Valley of the pausing of the Moon,
Oh! AVALON! my son! my son!

XV
Thou wert like Taleisin, "full of eyes,"
Bardling of Love!
My beautiful Divine Eumenides!
My gentle Dove!
Thou silver Swan of Golden Elegies!
Whose Mendelsohnian Songs now fill the skies!
While I am weeping where my Lily lies!
Where thou art lying
Beside the beautiful undying
In the Valley of the pausing of the Moon,
Oh! AVALON! my son! my son!

XVI
Kindling the high-uplifted stars at even
With thy sweet song,
The Angels, on the Sapphire Sills of Heaven,
In rapturous throng,
Melted to milder meekness, with the Seven
Bright Lamps of God to glory given,
Leant down to hear thy voice roll up the leven,
Where thou art lying
Beside the beautiful undying
In the valley of the pausing of the Moon,
Oh! AVALON! my son! my son!

XVII
Can any thing that Christ has ever said,
Make my heart whole?
Can less than bringing back the early dead,
Restore my soul?
No! this alone can make my Heavenly bread --
Christ's Bread of Life brought down from Heaven, instead
Of this sad Song, on which my soul has fed,
Where thou art lying
Beside the beautiful undying
In the Valley of the pausing of the Moon,
Oh! AVALON! my son! my son!

XVIII
Have I not need to weep from Morn till Even,
Far bitterer tears
Than cruel Earth, the unforgiven,
Through his long years --
Inquisitorial Hell, or strictest Heaven,
Wrung from Christ's bleeding heart when riven?
Thus from one grief unto another driven,
Where thou art lying
Beside the beautiful undying
In the Valley of the pausing of the Moon,
Oh! AVALON! my son! my son!

XIX
Yes! I have need to weep, to groan, to cry,
And never faint,
Till, battering down God's Golden Gates on high,
With my complaint,
I soften his great heart to make reply,
By sending my dear son from Heaven on high --
Or causing me in this dark grave to lie,
Where thou art lying
Beside the beautiful undying
In the Valley of the pausing of the Moon,
Oh! AVALON! my son! my son!

XX
I see the BRIDEGROOM of the Heavenly Bride,
In robes of light!
My little ONES now stand his form beside,
In linen white!
Embowered by Angels, star-crowned, in their pride,
Singing AEonian songs in joyful tide --
Although much larger grown than when they died --
While I am sighing
Beside the beautiful undying
In the Valley of the pausing of the Moon,
Oh! AVALON! my son! my son!






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