ABOVE the abysmal undivided deep A train of glory streaming from afar; And in the van, to wake the worlds from sleep, One on whose forehead shines the Morning-Star. Long-rolling surges of a falling sea, Smiting the sheer cliffs of an unknown shore; And by a fanged rock, swaying helplessly A mast with broken cordage -- nothing more. Three peaks, one loftier, all in virgin white, Poised high in cloudland when the day is done, And on the mid-most, far above the night, The rose-red of the long-departed sun. A wild girl reeling, helpless, like to fall, Down a hushed street at dawn in midsummer; And one who had clean forgot their past and all, From a lit palace casement pities her. A young man, only clothed with youth's first bloom, In mien and form an angel, not in eye; Hard by, a fell worm crawling from a tomb, And one, wide-eyed, who cries, "The Enemy!" A lake of molten fires which swell and surge And fall in thunders on the burning verge; And one a queen rapt, with illumined face, Who doth defy the Goddess of the place. Eros beneath a red-cupped tree, asleep, And 'mid the flowers, and thro' the air above, Fair boys with silver wings who smiling peep Upon the languid loosened limbs of love. A darkling gateway, thronged with entering ghosts, And a grave janitor, who seems to say: "Woe, woe to youth, to life, which idly boasts; I am the End, and mine the appointed Way." A young Faun making music on a reed, Deep in a leafy dell in Arcady: Three girl-nymphs fair, in musing thought take heed Of the strange youth's mysterious melody. A flare of lamplight in a shameful place Full of wild revel and unchecked offence, And in the midst, one fresh scarce-sullied face, Within her eyes, a dreadful innocence. A quire of seraphs, chanting row on row, With lute and viol and high trumpet notes; And, above all, their soft young eyes aglow -- Child angels, making laud from full clear throats. Some, on a cliff at dawn, in agony; Below, a scaly horror on the sea, Lashing the leaden surge. Fast-bound, a maid Waits on the verge, alone, but unafraid. A poisonous, dead, sad sea-marsh, fringed with pine, Scarce lit by mouldering churches, old as Time; Beyond, on high, just touched with wintry rime, The long chain of the autumnal Apennine. A god-like Presence, beautiful as Dawn, Watching, on some untrodden summit white, The Earth's last day grow full, and fade in night; Then, with a sigh, the Presence is withdrawn. A sheer rock-islet, frowning on the sea Where no ship sails, nor ever life may be: Thousands of leagues around, from pole to pole, The unbounded lonely ocean-currents roll. Young maids who wander on a flower-lit lawn, In springtide of their lives as of the year; Meanwhile, unnoticed, swift, a thing of fear, Across the sun, a deadly shadow drawn. Slow, hopeless, overborne, without a word, Two issuing, as if from Paradise; Behind them, stern, and with unpitying eyes, Their former selves, wielding a two-edged sword. A weary woman tricked with gold and gem, Wearing some strange barbaric diadem, Scorn on her lips, and, like a hidden fire, Within her eyes cruel unslaked desire. Two aged figures, poor, and blurred with tears; Their child, a bold proud woman, sweeping by; A hard cold face, which pities not nor fears, And all contempt and evil in her eye. Around a harpsichord, a blue-eyed throng Of long-dead children, rapt in sounds devout, In some old grange, while on that silent song The sabbath twilight fades, and stars come out. The end of things created; Dreadful night, Advancing swift on sky, and earth, and sea; But at the zenith a departing light, A soaring countless blessed company! |