Louise Imogen Guiney: November 2, 1920
CHILL of dawn and dark of midnight no more shall fall between us,
Nor even the wet April wind, or largess of the sun,
Or the fretted beauty of bare trees against, wide, skyey splendors
Tempt us to desire of mortal days for you whose days are done.
Nor even the wet April wind, or largess of the sun,
Or the fretted beauty of bare trees against, wide, skyey splendors
Tempt us to desire of mortal days for you whose days are done.
From that other air you fled to, O fugitive freed spirit!
The veiling mists of beauty fall in rounded drops, like rain;
And the roots of life awake in us, to drink them in and nourish
Dark finalities of ardors blent of triumph and of pain.
The veiling mists of beauty fall in rounded drops, like rain;
And the roots of life awake in us, to drink them in and nourish
Dark finalities of ardors blent of triumph and of pain.
Myrrh and spikenard bearing blindly, through mists of mortal dolor,
Your heavenly guidon brightened, and ecstatic you fared free.
And though here you struck but fitfully your halting note of prelude.
Now your sweeping resonances surge and sing tumultuously.
Your heavenly guidon brightened, and ecstatic you fared free.
And though here you struck but fitfully your halting note of prelude.
Now your sweeping resonances surge and sing tumultuously.
Whip of toil no more shall touch you, nor din of turmoil hinder,
Nor fate affright your quiet with his grisly mask of doom.
You shall lie by living waters, you shall walk with laughing heroes,
You are garnered up in safety in a large and lofty room.
Nor fate affright your quiet with his grisly mask of doom.
You shall lie by living waters, you shall walk with laughing heroes,
You are garnered up in safety in a large and lofty room.