Canto XCIII

By night we linger'd on the lawn,

      For underfoot the herb was dry;

      And genial warmth; and o'er the sky

The silvery haze of summer drawn;

And calm that let the tapers burn

      Unwavering: not a cricket chirr'd:

      The brook alone far-off was heard

And on the board the fluttering urn:

And bats went round in fragrant skies,

      And wheel'd or lit the filmy shapes

      That haunt the dusk, with ermine capes

And woolly breasts and beaded eyes;

While now we sang old songs that peal'd

      From knoll to knoll, where, couch'd at ease,

      The white kine glimmer'd and the trees

Laid their dark arms about the field.

But when those others, one by one,

      Withdrew themselves from me and night,

      And in the house light after light

Went out, and I was all alone,

A hunger seized my heart; I read

      Of that glad year which once had been,

      In those fall'n leaves which kept their green,

The noble letters of the dead:

And strangely on the silence broke

      The silent-speaking words, and strange

      Was love's dumb cry defying change

To test his worth; and strangely spoke

The faith, the vigour, bold to dwell

      On doubts that drive the coward back,

      And keen thro' wordy snares to track

Suggestion to her inmost cell.

So word by word, and line by line,

      The dead man touch'd me from the past,

      And all at once it seem'd at last

His living soul was flash'd on mine,

And mine in his was wound, and whirl'd

      About empyreal heights of thought,

      And came on that which is, and caught

The deep pulsations of the world,

Æonian music measuring out

      The steps of Time—the shocks of Chance—

      The blows of Death. At length my trance

Was cancell'd, stricken thro' with doubt.

Vague words! but ah, how hard to frame

      In matter-moulded forms of speech,

      Or ev'n for intellect to reach

Thro' memory that which I became:

Till now the doubtful dusk reveal'd

      The knolls once more where, couch'd at ease,

      The white kine glimmer'd, and the trees

Laid their dark arms about the field:

And suck'd from out the distant gloom

      A breeze began to tremble o'er

      The large leaves of the sycamore,

And fluctuate all the still perfume;

And gathering freshlier overhead,

      Rock'd the full-foliaged elms, and swung

      The heavy-folded rose, and flung

The lilies to and fro, and said

'The dawn, the dawn,' and died away;

      And East and West, without a breath,

      Mixt their dim lights, like life and death,

To broaden into boundless day.