Classic Poem

10.

" Konig! " in speech that was not song,
Yet sweeter far, she said,
Or whispered,
" The hours of God seem long
To man's impatience, and to me;
For slowly, mercifully still,
Ev'n to the freed of death,
Himself and his unerring will
The All-wise discovereth.
We are not fitted yet to be
Where dwell the painless, where the pure
Live with the pure in purity.
Much must thou dare, and more endure,
Ere we can wed as spirits wed.
Yet did I err not when I said,
" In heav'n our marriage-feast is spread,
And well are they who love the dead; "
For none are happy but the true;
And, Konig, we have work to do.
Go, then, to lonest Waterside;
There kiss, thy chaste, thy virgin-bride;
Long hast thou been expected there,
And she hath yet a pang to bear;
For one, whom yet thou may'st not see,
(The Angel of Extremity,
Whose touch of ice, and look of steel,
All who draw breath are doom'd to feel,)
Bends there o'er Etheline, and weeps.
A precious gift for thee she keeps;
" Our child! oh, place her in thy bower,
And tend, for me, my living flower!
Ordain'd to win
For us an Eden, lost by sin,
She bends to Heav'n
Both me and thee.
Nay, kneel not — no! ask not of me
Forgiveness — Art thou not forgiv'n?
Strive not to clasp the impassive air;
But do thy mission! and prepare,
On earth, for heav'n. I'll meet thee there —
Where no harsh fates annul
Love's law of blissful trust;
And Beauty casts between
Her smile serene
And the All-Loving Beautiful,
No veil of dust. "