The Progress of Love (A Lyrical Symphony) IX

Out of the deep, my dream, out of the deep,Yrma, thy voice came to me in my sleep,And through a rainbow woven of human tearsI saw two lovers wandering down the years;Two children, first, that roamed a sunset land,And then two lovers wandering hand in hand,Forgetful of their childhood's Paradise,For nine more years had darkened in their eyes,And heaven itself could hardly find againAnwyl, the star-child, or the flower, Etain.

For on a day in May, as through the woodWith earth's new passion beating in his bloodHe went alone, an empty-hearted youth,Seeking he knew not what white flower of truthOr beauty, on all sides he seemed to seeSwift subtle hints of some new harmony,Yet all unheard, ideal, and incomplete,A silent song compact of hopes and fears,A music such as lights the wandering feetOf Yrma when on earth she reappears.And he forgot that sad grey City of Pain,For all earth's old romance returned again,And as he went, his dreaming soul grew gladTo think that he might meet with GalahadOr Parsifal in some green glade of fern,Or see between the boughs a helmet burnAnd hear a joyous laugh kindle the skyAs through the wood Sir Launcelot rode byWith face upturned to take the sun like wine.Ah, was it love that made the whole world shineLike some great angel's face, blinded with bliss,While Anwyl dreamed of bold Sir AmadisAnd Guinevere's white arms and Iseult's kiss,And that glad island in a golden seaWhere Arthur lives and reigns eternally?Surely the heavens were one wide rose-white flameAs down the path to meet him Yrma came;Ah, was it Yrma, with those radiant eyes,That came to greet and lead him through the skies,The skies that gloomed and gleamed so far aboveThe little wandering prayers of human love?...He had forgotten all except the gleamOf light when once he kissed her in a dream, ...For surely then he knew that long beforeTheir eyes had met upon some distant shore....Ah, was it Yrma whose red lips he metBetween the branches, where the leaves were wet?Etain or Yrma, for it seemed her faceBent down upon him from some happy placeAnd whispered to him, low and sweet and low,In other worlds I loved you, long ago!And he, too, knew his love could never die,Because his queen was throned beyond the sky.

Yet In sweet mortal eyes he met her nowAnd kissed Etain beneath the hawthorn bough,And dared to dream his infinite dream was trueOn earth and reign with Etain, dream he knewWhy leaves were green and sides were fresh and blue;Yea, dream he knew, as children dream they knowThey knew all this a million years ago,And watched the sea-waves wistfully westward wendAnd heard a voice whispering in their flowAnd calling through the silent sunset-glowLove that hath no beginning hath no end.

Ah, could they see in the Valley of GloomThat clove the cliffs behind the City;Ah, could they hear in the forest of DoomThe peril that neared without pause or pity?Behind the veils of ivy and vine,Wild musk-roses and white woodbine,In glens that were wan as with moonlit tearsAnd rosy with ghosts of eglantineAnd pale as with lilies of long-past years,Ah, could they see, could they hear, could they knowBehind that beautiful outward show,Behind the pomp and glory of lifeThat seething old anarchic strife?For there in many a dim blue gladeWhere the rank red poppies burned,And if perchance some dreamer strayedHe nevermore returned,Cold incarnate memoriesOf earth's retributory throes,Deadly desires and agoniesDark as the worm that never dies,In the outer night arose,And waited under those wonderful skiesWith Hydra heads and mocking eyesThat winked upon the waning WestFrom out the gloom of the oak-forest,Till all the wild profound of woodThat o'er the haunted valley sleptGlowed with eyes like pools of bloodAs, lusting after a hideous food,Through the haggard vistas creptWithout a cry, without a hiss,The serpent broods of the abyss.Ancestral folds in darkness furledSince the beginnings of the world.Ring upon awful ring uproseThat obscure heritage of foes,The exceeding bitter heritageWhich still a jealous God bestowsFrom inappellable age to age,The ghostly worms that softly moveThrough every grey old corse of loveAnd creep across the coffined yearsTo batten on our blood and tears;And there were hooded shapes of deathGaunt and grey, cruel and blind,Stealing softly as a breathThrough the woods that loured behindThe City; hooded shapes of fearSlowly, slowly stealing near;While all the gloom that round them rolledWith intertwisting coils grew cold.And there with leer and gap-toothed grinMany a gaunt ancestral SinWith clutching fingers, white and thin,Strove to put the boughs aside;And still before them all would glideDown the wavering moon-white trackOne lissom figure, clad in black;Who wept at mirth and mocked at painAnd murmured a song of the wind and the rain;His laugh was wild with a secret grief;His eyes were deep like woodland pools;And, once and again, as his face drew nearIn a rosy gloaming of eglantere,All the ghosts that gathered thereBowed together, naming his name:Lead us, ah thou Shadow of a Leaf,Child and master of all our shame,Fool of Doubt and King of Fools.

Now the linnet had ended his evensong,And the lark dropt down from his last wild dittyAnd ruffled his wings and his speckled breastBlossomwise over his June-sweet nest;While winging wistfully into the WestAs a fallen petal is wafted alongThe last white sea-mew sought for rest;And, over the gleaming heave and swellOf the swinging seas,Drowsily breathed the dreaming breeze.Then, suddenly, out of the Valley of GloomThat clove the cliffs behind the City,Out of the silent forest of DoomThat clothed the valley with clouds of fearSwelled the boom of a distant bellOnce, and the towers of the City of PainEchoed it, without hope or pity.The tale of that tolling who can tell?That dark old music who shall declare?Who shall interpret the song of the bell?

Is it nothing to you, all ye that hear,Sorrowed the bell, Is it nothing to you?Is it nothing to you? the shore-wind cried,Is it nothing to you? the cliffs replied.But the low light laughed and the skies were blue,And this was only the song of the bell.