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The Blessed Damozel
The blessed Damozel lean'd out
From the gold bar of Heaven;
Her eyes knew more of rest and shade
Than waters still'd at even;
She had three lilies in her hand,
And the stars in her hair were seven.
Her robe, ungirt from clasp to hem,
No wrought flowers did adorn,
But a white rose of Mary's gift,
For service meetly worn;
And her hair lying down her back
Was yellow like ripe corn.
¡@
Her seem'd she scarce had been a day
One of God's choristers;
The wonder was not yet quite gone
From that still look of hers;
Albeit, to them she left, her day
Had counted as ten years.
¡@
(To one, it is ten years of years.
. . . . . . . Yet now, and in this place,
Surely she lean'd o'er me--her hair
Fell all about my face . . . . . . . .
Nothing: the autumn fall of leaves.
The whole year sets apace.)
¡@
It was the rampart of God's house
That she was standing on;
By God built over the sheer depth
The which is Space begun;
So high, that looking downward thence
She scarce could see the sun.
¡@
It lies in Heaven, across the flood
Of ether, as a bridge.
Beneath, the tides of day and night
With flame and blackness ridge
The void, as low as where this earth
Spins like a fretful midge.
¡@
She scarcely heard her sweet new friends:
Playing at holy games,
Softly they spake among themselves
Their virginal chaste names;
And the souls, mounting up to God,
Went by her like thin flames.
¡@
To one, it is ten years of years.
. . . . . . . Yet now, and in this place,
Surely she lean'd o'er me--her hair
Fell all about my face . . . . . . . .
Nothing: the autumn fall of leaves.
The whole year sets apace.)
¡@
It was the rampart of God's house
That she was standing on;
By God built over the sheer depth
The which is Space begun;
So high, that looking downward thence
She scarce could see the sun.
¡@
It lies in Heaven, across the flood
Of ether, as a bridge.
Beneath, the tides of day and night
With flame and blackness ridge
The void, as low as where this earth
Spins like a fretful midge.
¡@
She scarcely heard her sweet new friends:
Playing at holy games,
Softly they spake among themselves
Their virginal chaste names;
And the souls, mounting up to God,
Went by her like thin flames.
¡@
Page 714
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And still she bow'd above the vast
Waste sea of worlds that swarm;
Until her bosom must have made
The bar she lean'd on warm,
And the lilies lay as if asleep
Along her bended arm.
¡@
From the fix'd place of Heaven, she saw
Time like a pulse shake fierce
Through all the worlds. Her gaze still strove
Within the gulf to pierce
Its path; and now she spoke, as when
The stars sung in their spheres.
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The sun was gone now. The curl'd moon
Was like a little feather
Fluttering far down the gulf. And now
She spoke through the still weather.
Her voice was like the voice the stars
Had when they sung together.
I wish that he were come to me,
For he will come, she said.
Have I not pray'd in Heaven?--on earth,
Lord, Lord, has he not pray'd?
Are not two prayers a perfect strength?
And shall I feel afraid?
¡@
When round his head the aureole clings,
And he is clothed in white,
I'll take his hand and go with him
To the deep wells of light,
And we will step down as to a stream,
And bathe there in God's sight.
¡@
We two will stand beside that shrine,
Occult, withheld, untrod,
Whose lamps are stirr'd continually
With prayers sent up to God;
And see our old prayers, granted, melt
Each like a little cloud.
¡@
We two will lie i' the shadow of
That living mystic tree,
Within whose secret growth the Dove
Is sometimes felt to be,
While every leaf that His plumes touch
Saith His Name audibly.
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And I myself will teach to him,
I myself, lying so,
The songs I sing here; which his voice
Shall pause in, hush'd and slow,
And find some knowledge at each pause,
Or some new thing to know.
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(Ah sweet! Just now, in that bird's song,
Strove not her accents there
Fain to be hearken'd? When those bells
Possess'd the midday air,
Was she not stepping to my side
Down all the trembling stair?)
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We two, she said, will seek the groves
Where the Lady Mary is,
With her five handmaidens, whose names
Are five sweet symphonies,
Cecily, Gertrude, Magdalen,
Margaret, and Rosalys.
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Circlewise sit they, with bound locks
And foreheads garlanded
Into the fine cloth white like flame
Weaving the golden thread,
To fashion the birth-robes for them
Who are just born, being dead.
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He shall fear, haply, and be dumb;
Then I will lay my cheek
To his, and tell about our love,
Not once abash'd or weak:
And the dear Mother will approve
My pride, and let me speak.
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Herself shall bring us, hand in hand,
To Him round whom all souls
Kneel, the unnumber'd ransom'd heads
Bow'd with their aureoles:
And angels meeting us shall sing
To their citherns and citoles.
¡@
There will I ask of Christ the Lord
Thus much for him and me:--
Only to live as once on earth
At peace--only to be
As then awhile, for ever now
Together, I and he.
¡@
She gazed, and listen'd, and then said,
Less sad of speech than mild,
All this is when he comes. She ceased.
The light thrill'd past her, fill'd
With angels in strong level lapse.
Her eyes pray'd, and she smiled.
¡@
(I saw her smile.) But soon their flight
Was vague in distant spheres;
And then she laid her arms along
The golden barriers,
And laid her face between her hands
And wept. (I heard her tears.)
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