Classic Poem

Through clouds high-domed as ne'er on earthly sky
Sinks huge a fiery sun, pulsing with flame
Down to the last thin edge. Anon, as Glory
Dazzles with masquerade when Power is gone,
The sky bursts into bloom; all hues at once—
From the pale rose intolerably bright,
Shot from the sunken rim, to the eastern verge
Misty with violet—enkindling, vie.
So smit with splendor lies that heavenlier world
A human eye that saw were stricken blind.
Not so the eyes of them that throng the ways
Leading to yonder tower. In laughing eyes
They look and laugh, nor turn for light beyond.
White-flaming on that sea of shifting flame,
A star pursues the sun, and eyes that mark
Suddenly laugh no more, but questioning turn
To where upon the tower a lonely form,
Heedless of sunken sun or following star
Or cloudy miracle, stands all intent
On the dim line that bounds the darkling east.
The figure lifts an arm; the babble dies
Into a breathless hush, wherein each hears
But his own heart-throbs and the lapsing rill.
He lifts the other arm, crying, “They are risen!”
And all the waiting multitude with one voice,
Like pent-up waters loosened by the sun,
Shouts, “They are risen!” Then, with arms out-stretched,
The priest proclaims, “So long as love divine
Cherishes mortal weakness, so long as yonder
Mine image, Nana, cherishes thine own
In Annunit, so long shall I in love
And mercy look on Ishtar. Though in Nebo
My wrath is writ in flame; though for a night
And yet a night I draw into myself
The sign of my forbearance; yet my favor
Shall not forsake thee wholly while in heaven
The symbol of my pity shines renewed.”
He ceases and lets fall his arms, the throng
Rolls upward through the gloom a single voice:
“We have hearkened the words of the Lord which ages gone
He answered by the mouth of his holy priest,
When first our fathers' fathers, driven by fear
Of quickly coming night with its dark and cold,
Besought the all-giving Sun that he would grant
A sign to them that he would not for ever
Hide his face from them, but that every night,
The longest night, should end at last in day.
To-night, O Lord, their children's children, we
Give thee our thanks and praise that thou didst set
The symbol of thy mercy in the east.
Nor less that thou didst hang above the west
The swift and threatening image of thy wrath.
We have heard and seen, O Lord, let our hearts give heed!”
They cease; anon, as pebbles on a bank,
When one has set a foot too near the edge,
Sweep downward with a widening rush and din,
So sweeps the crowd, its anxious rite performed,
With sudden stir and clamor down the hill.
Soon through the gathering darkness lamps flash out,
And upward to the lone form on the tower
Float from among the lamps the mingled strains
Of harps and voices and the clink of cups.
Silent he stands, his eyes fixed on the east,
Where, mantling all the purple dark with gold,
Swing upward the twain planets, Nana, large,
Radiant, benign, and, beaming sweet response,
The less, but glowing, Annunit. Already
Their light treads down the vapors and illumes
The watcher's face, and on the westward lawn
Marks faint the tower in shadow. At length the priest
Kneels, and with arms outstretched to the orbèd pair,
Breaks forth in words, but every word a sob:
“Still backward roll beneath the feet of men
The irreclaimable years into the gulf
Unfilled by years or centuries. Still with pain
Men heap their debt of sin. The soil of Ishtar
Is watered with the blood of innocence.
Forever the new day of righteousness
Rises in flame and blood, only to sink
In blood and flame. Still wields the strong his might
Not to uplift but trample down the weak,
Till he in turn is by a stronger still
Downtrodden; but not even so is justice done.
O Pity of God, O let me turn to where
Thou shinest in thy twofold radiance
Above the darkling east! O thou abode
Of love supernal! How they bask and bloom,
Unvext by storm, unstained by blood of strife,
Thy peaceful meadows! And thou, of mortal trust
O image radiant, how tenderly
Rained on thy mounts of aspiration fall
The beams of guardian Love! Oh! let them fall.
Still fall, though dimly, faintly from afar,
On strife-worn Ishtar, till at last they burn
Into the souls of men, yea, until Ishtar,
Aglow with heavenly love, herself shall shine
Back upon Nana and Annunit, even Ishtar,—
O thought, O hope too high for mortal heart!—
An image of the Holiest, raying clear
The love divine across the gulf of night!”