St John's Eve

The veil is thin betweenThe seen and the unseen—Thinner to-night than the transparent air;All heaven and earth are still,Save when from some far hillFloateth the nightbird's unavailing prayer;Up from the mountain barsClimb the slow, patient stars,Only to faint in moonlight white and rare!

Ere earth had grown too wiseTo commerce with the skies,On this midsummer night the men of oldBelieved the dead drew near,Believed that they could hearVoices long silent speaking from the mould,Believed whoever sleptUnearthly vigil keptWhere his own death-knell should at last be tolled.

In solemn midnight marchesBeneath dark forest archesThey fancied that their hungry souls found God;His angels clad in lightStole softly through the night,Leaving no impress on the yielding sod,And bore to mortal earsTidings from other spheres,The undiscovered way no man hath trod.

Ah! what if it were true?Then would I call ye whoHave one by one beyond my vision flown;I would set wide the doorYe enter now no moreCrying, "Come in from out the void unknown!Come as ye came of oldLaden with love untold"—Hark! was that nothing but the night wind's moan?