To Her Who Shall Come

1

Out of the night of lovelessness I call Thee, as, in a chill chamber where no ray Of unbelievable light and freedom fall, Might cry one manacled! And tho' the way Thou'lt come I cannot see; tho' my heart's sore With emptiness when morning's silent gray Wakes me to long aloneness; yet I know Thou hast been with me, who like dawn wilt go Beside me, when I have found thee, evermore!

2

So in the garden of my heart each day I plant thee a flower. Now the pansy, peace, And now the lily, faith--or now a spray Of the climbing ivy, hope. And they ne'er cease Around the still unblossoming rose of love To bend in fragrant tribute to her sway. Then--for thy shelter from life's sultrier suns, The oak of strength I set o'er joy that runs With brooklet glee from winds that grieve above.

3

But where now art thou? Watching with love's eye The eve-star wander? Listening through dim trees Some thrilled muezzin of the forest cry From his leafy minaret? Or by the sea's Blue brim, while the spectral moon half o'er it hangs Like the faery isle of Avalon, do these My yearnings speak to thee of days thy feet Have never trod?--Sweet, sweet, oh, sealing sweet, My own, must be our meeting's mystic pangs.

4

And will be soon! For last night near to day, Dreaming, God called me thro' the space-built sphere Of heaven and said, "Come, waiting one, and lay Thine ear unto my Heart--there thou shall hear The secrets of this world where evils war." Such things I heard as must rend mortal clay To tell, and trembled--till God, pitying, Said, "Listen" ... Oh, my love, I heard thee sing Out of thy window to the morning star!