The Starry Wind
She stood alone before the burning deep,
Where sun on sun, unnumbered, wheeled in flame,
And every star its dreadful watch did keep,
Too bright, too vast, too terrible to name.
Ten thousand thousand worlds of quenchless light
Did cling unto her, thick as breath on glass,
Glorious and grievous to her mortal sight,
A splendour that no lesser eye could pass.
But every sun that burns, and burns alone,
Knows not its own combustion, nor its name;
And she, the least, the frailest flesh and bone,
Beheld them all, and passed beyond their flame.
The Universe is great, and knoweth not;
The soul is small, and knows both depth and height;
Being but a breath, a vapour, and a thought,
She stood — and was herself the greater light.
But hark! a Voice — not from the height above,
Nor from the burning firmament of night,
Bade her not rise, as she had dreamed thereof,
But softly said, Go down, beyond all light.
She put away her restless, wandering thought,
The fame that perisheth as smoke in wind,
The wilful longing that her own will sought,
And every dream that bound her or confined.
And there she lost the name that once was hers —
The name first given her, at hour of birth —
And, nameless, sank where nothing living stirs,
Past every root and reckoning of earth.
The heart that, out of love, its sorrow sought,
Beyond death's verge, beyond despair's dark night,
To black and fathomless deep waters brought,
Looked from the abyss forth with other sight.
Down at the last, where nothing more could fall —
No deep past that, no dark beyond that deep —
She came unto the round and final wall
Of nothingness, where even silence sleeps.
But out of nothing, soft as falling dew,
There breathed a Wind no earthly wind can be:
The Starry Wind — the Wind that all stars knew —
Passed through the strait, and touched, and set her free.
A cold, fine flame, not scorching, but most pure,
Swept o'er the upper chambers of her heart,
And all the passions that she could not cure
Were burned away like chaff, and fell apart.
Yea, to the very pores of flesh it came,
The Wind that first had blown the stars alight,
Till skin and soul alike were but one flame,
One breathing dwelling-place of Uncreated Light.
And for the name that in the dark was lost,
A Name was given, which no other knew —
Unspoken, and all unseen, yet engrossed
Her inmost being: secret, and made new.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment