Classic and Contemporary Poetry
AVALON, by THOMAS HOLLEY CHIVERS 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! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A CALL, FR, THE POET'S VOCATION by THOMAS HOLLEY CHIVERS FAITH by THOMAS HOLLEY CHIVERS LITTLE BOY BLUE by THOMAS HOLLEY CHIVERS THE VIGIL OF AIDEN, SELECTION by THOMAS HOLLEY CHIVERS THE VOICE OF THOUGHT by THOMAS HOLLEY CHIVERS DOMESDAY BOOK: IRMA LEESE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE MALDIVE SHARK by HERMAN MELVILLE ECHO by AULUS LICINIUS ARCHIAS |
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