After Three Days

I stood within the gateOf a great temple, 'midst the living streamOf worshippers that thronged its regal stateFair pictured in my dream.

Jewels and gold were there;And floors of marble lent a crystal sheenTo body forth, as in a lower air,The wonders of the scene.

Such wild and lavish graceHad whispers in it of a coming doom;As richest flowers lie strown about the faceOf her that waits the tomb.

The wisest of the landHad gathered there, three solemn try sting-days,For high debate: men stood on either handTo listen and to gaze.

The aged brows were bent,Bent to a frown, half thought, and half annoy,That all their stores of subtlest argumentWere baffled by a boy.

In each averted faceI marked but scorn and loathing, till mine eyesFell upon one that stirred not in his place,Tranced in a dumb surprise

Surely within his mindStrange thoughts are born, until he doubts the loreOf those old men, blind leaders of the blind,Whose kingdom is no more.

Surely he sees afarA day of death the stormy future brings;The crimson setting of the herald starThat led the Eastern kings.

Thus, as a sunless deepMirrors the shining heights that crown the bay,So did my soul create anew in sleepThe picture seen by day.

Gazers came and went—A restless hum of voices marked the spot—In varying shades of critic discontentPrating they knew not what.

"Where is the comely limb,The form attuned in every perfect part,The beauty that we should desire in him?"Ah! Fools and slow of heart!

Look into those deep eyes,Deep as the grave, and strong with love divine;Those tender, pure, and fathomless mysteries,That seem to pierce through thine.

Look into those deep eyes,Stirred to unrest by breath of coming strife,Until a longing in thy soul ariseThat this indeed were life:

That thou couldst find Him there,Bend at His sacred feet thy willing knee,And from thy heart pour out the passionate prayer"Lord, let me follow Thee!"

But see the crowd divide;Mother and sire have found their lost one now:The gentle voice, that fain would seem to chideWhispers "Son, why hast thou"—

In tone of sad amaze—"Thus dealt with us, that art our dearest thing?Behold, thy sire and I, three weary days,Have sought thee sorrowing."

And I had stayed to hearThe loving words "How is it that ye sought?"—But that the sudden lark, with matins clear,Severed the links of thought.

Then over all there fellShadow and silence; and my dream was fled,As fade the phantoms of a wizard's cellWhen the dark charm is said.

Yet in the gathering lightI lay with half-shut eyes that would not wake,Lovingly clinging to the skirts of nightFor that sweet vision's sake.