A Vision

COMING down a golden streetI beheld my vanished one,And he moveth on a cloud,And his forehead wears a star;And his blue eyes, deep and holy,Fixed as in a blessed dream,See some mystery of joy,Some unuttered depth of love.

And his vesture is as blueAs the skies of summer are,Falling with a saintly sweep,With a sacred stillness swaying;And he presseth to his bosomHarp of strange and mystic fashion,And his hands, like living pearls,Wander o'er the golden strings.

And the music that ariseth,Who can utter or divine it?In that strange celestial thrilling,Every memory of sorrow,Every heart-ache, every anguish,Every fear for the to-morrow,Melt away in charméd rest.

And there be around him many,Bright with robes like evening clouds,--Tender green and clearest amber,Crimson fading into rose,Robes of flames and robes of silver,--And their hues all thrill and trembleWith a living light of feeling,Deepening with each heart's pulsation,Till in vivid trance of colorThat celestial rainbow glows.

How they float and wreathe and brighten,Bending low their starry brows,Singing with a tender cadence,And their hands, like spotless lilies,Folded on their prayerful breasts.In their singing seem to mingleTender airs of by-gone days;--Mother-hymnings by the cradle,Mother-moanings by the grave,Songs of human love and sorrow,Songs of endless love and rest;--In the pauses of that musicEvery throb of sorrow dies.

O my own, my heart's belovéd,Vainly have I wept above thee?Would I call thee from thy gloryTo this world's impurity?--Lo! it passeth, it dissolveth,All the vision melts away;But as if a heavenly lilyDropped into my aching breast,With a healing sweetness laden,With a mystic breath of rest,I am charmed into forgettingAutumn winds and dreary grave.