Collected Poems Volume I Part 35

Dante saw the threefold bow Strangely glow, Saw the Rainbow Vision rise, And the Flame that wore the crown Bending down O'er the flowers of Paradise.

Something yet remained, it seems; In his dreams Dante missed--as angels may In their white and burning bliss-- Some small kiss Mortals meet with every day.

Italy in splendour faints 'Neath her saints!

O, her great Madonnas, too, Faces calm as any moon Glows in June, Hooded with the night's deep blue!

What remains? I pa.s.s and hear Everywhere, Ay, or see in silent eyes Just the song she still would sing Thus--a-swing O'er the cradle where He lies.

I

Sleep, little baby, I love thee.

Sleep, little king, I am bending above thee.

How should I know what to sing Here in my arms as I swing thee to sleep?

Hushaby low, Rockaby so, Kings may have wonderful jewels to bring, Mother has only a kiss for her king!

Why should my singing so make me to weep?

Only I know that I love thee, I love thee, Love thee, my little one, sleep.

II

Is it a dream? Ah yet, it seems Not the same as other dreams!

I can but think that angels sang, When thou wast born, in the starry sky, And that their golden harps out-rang While the silver clouds went by!

The morning sun shuts out the stars, Which are much loftier than the sun; But, could we burst our prison-bars And find the Light whence light begun, The dreams that heralded thy birth Were truer than the truths of earth; And, by that far immortal Gleam, Soul of my soul, I still would dream!

A ring of light was round thy head, The great-eyed oxen nigh thy bed Their cold and innocent noses bowed!

Their sweet breath rose like an incense cloud In the blurred and mystic lanthorn light.

About the middle of the night The black door blazed like some great star With a glory from afar, Or like some mighty chrysolite Wherein an angel stood with white Blinding arrowy bladed wings Before the throne of the King of kings; And, through it, I could dimly see A great steed tethered to a tree.

Then, with crimson gems aflame Through the door the three kings came, And the black Ethiop unrolled The richly broidered cloth of gold, And poured forth before thee there Gold and frankincense and myrrh!

III

See, what a wonderful smile! Does it mean That my little one knows of my love?

Was it meant for an angel that pa.s.sed unseen, And smiled at us both from above?

Does it mean that he knows of the birds and the flowers That are waiting to sweeten his childhood's hours, And the tales I shall tell and the games he will play, And the songs we shall sing and the prayers we shall pray In his boyhood's May, He and I, one day?

IV

For in the warm blue summer weather We shall laugh and love together: I shall watch my baby growing, I shall guide his feet, When the orange trees are blowing And the winds are heavy and sweet!

When the orange orchards whiten I shall see his great eyes brighten To watch the long-legged camels going Up the twisted street, When the orange trees are blowing And the winds are sweet.

_What does it mean? Indeed, it seems A dream! Yet not like other dreams!_

We shall walk in pleasant vales, Listening to the shepherd's song I shall tell him lovely tales All day long: He shall laugh while mother sings Tales of fishermen and kings.

He shall see them come and go O'er the wistful sea, Where rosy oleanders blow Round blue Lake Galilee, Kings with fishers' ragged coats And silver nets across their boats, Dipping through the starry glow, With crowns for him and me!

Ah, no; Crowns for him, not me!

_Rockaby so! Indeed, it seems A dream! Yet not like other dreams!_

V

Ah, see what a wonderful smile again!

Shall I hide it away in my heart, To remember one day in a world of pain When the years have torn us apart, Little babe, When the years have torn us apart?

Sleep, my little one, sleep, Child with the wonderful eyes, Wild miraculous eyes, Deep as the skies are deep!

What star-bright glory of tears Waits in you now for the years That shall bid you waken and weep?

Ah, in that day, could I kiss you to sleep Then, little lips, little eyes, Little lips that are lovely and wise, Little lips that are dreadful and wise!

VI

Clenched little hands like crumpled roses Dimpled and dear, Feet like flowers that the dawn uncloses, What do I fear?

Little hands, will you ever be clenched in anguish?

White little limbs, will you droop and languish?

Nay, what do I hear?

I hear a shouting, far away, You shall ride on a kingly palm-strewn way Some day!

But when you are crowned with a golden crown And throned on a golden throne, You'll forget the manger of Bethlehem town And your mother that sits alone

Wondering whether the mighty king Remembers a song she used to sing, Long ago, "_Rockaby so, Kings may have wonderful jewels to bring, Mother has only a kiss for her king_!"...

Ah, see what a wonderful smile, once more!

He opens his great dark eyes!

Little child, little king, nay, hush, it is o'er My fear of those deep twin skies,-- Little child, You are all too dreadful and wise!

VII

But now you are mine, all mine, And your feet can lie in my hand so small, And your tiny hands in my heart can twine, And you cannot walk, so you never shall fall, Or be pierced by the thorns beside the door, Or the nails that lie upon Joseph's floor; Through sun and rain, through shadow and s.h.i.+ne, You are mine, all mine!

ENCELADUS

_In the Black Country, from a little window, Before I slept, across the haggard wastes Of dust and ashes, I saw t.i.tanic shafts Like shadowy columns of wan-hope arise To waste, on the blear sky, their slow sad wreaths Of smoke, their infinitely sad slow prayers.

Then, as night deepened, the blast-furnaces, Red smears upon the sulphurous blackness, turned All that sad region to a City of Dis, Where naked, sweating giants all night long Bowed their strong necks, melted flesh, blood and bone, To brim the dry ducts of the G.o.ds of gloom With terrible rivers, branches of living gold._

_O, like some tragic gesture of great souls In agony, those awful columns towered Against the clouds, that city of ash and slag a.s.sumed the grandeur of some direr Thebes Arising to the death-chant of those G.o.ds, A dreadful Order climbing from the dark Of Chaos and Corruption, threatening to take Heaven with its vast slow storm.

I slept, and dreamed.