Collected Works (Vol. I)

SONGS OF THE SPIRIT THE VISIONS OF THE ORDEAL. THE mind with visions clouded, (Asleep? Awake ?) By bloodless shades enshrouded, (By whom, and for whose sake ?) With visions dimly lighted, By its own shade affrighted, In its own light benighted, The doors of hell may shake. Unbidden spring the spectres (Whence come, where bound ?) To baffle those protectors Whose wings are broad around. Uprise they and upbraid, Till life shrinks back afraid, And death itself dismayed Sinks back to the profound. Unholy phantom faces (Of self? Of sin?) Grin wild in all the places Where blood is trodden in : The ground of night enchanted With deadly blooms is planted, Where evil beasts have panted And snakes have shed their skin. With poison steams the air, And evil scent Is potent everywhere ; Creation waits the event: In silence, without sighing, The living and the dying, Oppressed and putrefying, Curse earth and firmament. What dreams disturb my slumber, Or what sights seen? Foul orgies without number In dens and caves obscene, Accurst, detestable, Ah God ! the shapes that throng! Ah God! what eyes! The souls grown sharp and strong That my lips made their prize, The ruined souls, the wrecks Of bodies fair of flecks Long since, ere God did vex My soul with sacrifice. These press upon my lips What lips of flame To burn me, unless slips Some cooler kiss, from shame Washed clean by God’s desire, To save me from their fire— Those kiss me and respire The perfume of the Name.} Remorse and terror banished By pitying lovers, Who from my eyes have vanished, (The Lidless Eye ° discovers), Repenting souls that turn, Whose hearts with pity burn For me, who now discern Their love around me hovers. Their love wards from my head. The furious hate Of those loves doubly dead That may not pass the gate: By their entreating prayer The angels fill the air To guard my steps, to bare The veil inviolate. The visions leave me now; I sink to sleep ; Calm and content my brow ; My eyes are large and deep. The morning shall behold On feet and plumes of gold My spirit soon enfold The flocks on heaven’s steep. 1 Jehovah, here and throughout, unless ex- pressly stated to the contrary. 2 That of Macroprosopus, who ‘‘ neither slumbers nor sleeps.” In which I laugh with hell, And furies chant the knell Of all things clean.