Clavichord

Wherefore, poor Fool, dost lie— Love, cap and bells put by— On thy pallet-bed so stark? “I am girt, soul and limb, Gainst horror dim. Ear tense to hark Mine eyeballs strain and swim Drowning in foamy dark. Comes no shock Nor earthly feet But the heart’s blood, ebb’d with the chill tower-clock To a single beat, Clots to a fear That God may appear— None other eye being near— And bare of his mantle of law Stand, a giant Spirit beautiful Sombre, pale, in avenging mail, Wings folded, on this planet’s skull; And before Him dropping like fine rain, A veil o’ the cloud o’ the dust of kings Noiseless descending the old Abyss ... Ah then, after this How gentle through the dark paths of the brain Comes the faint noise of outer things; The whirr and shower of wings— Satin shufflings of ivy leaves Ranging like bees the leaden pane— Jolting of carters, cries of falconers— The blessed courtyard stirs That do in mercy say Thou hast another day.”