DARK and vast are Thine outer walls, O King of Light! Weary the desert, lo, the parched wind crawls Toward the pools of night. Over Thy close there is music stealing. Is it Thy revel, Lord, or the calls Of my childhood's dreaming? Is it the pealing Of angel spires, or the fever's blight? Some rose immortal there must bloom By fountains clear, That waves of such ineffable perfume Should reach me here! Cool on my brows I feel their sprinkle, Here in the dusk of my outer gloom Where the stars themselves seem drops that twinkle In truant spray o'er the sky wastes sheer. Their hyssop melts through my soul. Perchance She scatters there Some old love-sign, some token,—she, whose glance Makes consecrate and rare Life's dawns and twilights,—whose worn hands inploring Are constant raised 'mid all Thy joys' expanse For me remembered still in her adoring,— She of the silvered, even-parted hair! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SUPREME by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON ATELIER CEZANNE by CLARENCE MAJOR IN THE HOME STRETCH by ROBERT FROST |