To the End

There are lilies for her sisters —
(Who so cold as they?) —
And heartsease for one I must not name
When I am far away.
I shall pluck the lady lilies
And fancy all the rest;
I shall pluck the bright eyed heartsease
For her sake I love the best,
As I wander on with weary feet
Toward the twilight shadowy west.

Oh bird that fliest eastward
Unto that sunny land
Oh wilt thou 'light on lilies white
Beside her whiter hand?
Soft summer wind that breathest
Of perfumes and sweet spice,
Ah tell her what I dare not tell
Of watchful waiting eyes
Of love that yet may meet again
In distant Paradise.

I go from earth to Heaven
A dim uncertain road,
A houseless pilgrim thro' the world
Unto a sure abode:
While evermore an Angel
Goes with me day and night,
A ministering spirit
From the land of light,
My holy fellow servant sent
To guide my steps aright.

I wonder if the Angels
Love with such love as our's,
If for each other's sake they pluck
And keep eternal flowers.
Alone I am and weary,
Alone yet not alone:
Her soul talks with me by the way
From tedious stone to stone,
A blessed Angel treads with me
The awful paths unknown.

When will the long road end in rest,
The sick bird perch and brood?
When will my Guardian fold his wings
At rest in the finished good? —
Lulling lulling me off to sleep:
While death's strong hand doth roll
My sins behind His back,
And my life up like a scroll,
Till thro' sleep I hear kind Angels
Rejoicing at the goal.

If her spirit went before me
Up from night to day,
It would pass me like the lightning
That kindles on its way.
I should feel it like the lightning
Flashing fresh from Heaven:
I should long for Heaven sevenfold more,
Yea and sevenfold seven;
Should pray as I have not prayed before,
And strive as I have not striven.

She will learn new love in Heaven
Who is so full of love,
She will learn new depths of tenderness
Who is tender like a dove.
Her heart will no more sorrow,
Her eyes will weep no more:
Yet it may be she will yearn
And look back from far before:
Lingering on the golden threshold
And leaning from the door.
Translation: 
Language: 
Rate this poem: 

Reviews

No reviews yet.