The Tree of Life

The Tree of Life.

Broad daylight, with a sense of weariness!Mine eyes were closed, but I was not asleep,My hand was in my father's, and I feltHis presence near me. Thus we often pastIn silence, hour by hour. What was the needOf interchanging words when every thoughtThat in our hearts arose, was known to each,And every pulse kept time? Suddenly there shoneA strange light, and the scene as sudden changed.I was awake:—It was an open plainIllimitable,—stretching, stretching—oh, so far!And o'er it that strange light,—a glorious lightLike that the stars shed over fields of snowIn a clear, cloudless, frosty winter night,Only intenser in its brilliance calm.And in the midst of that vast plain, I saw,For I was wide awake,—it was no dream,A tree with spreading branches and with leavesOf divers kinds,—dead silver and live gold,Shimmering in radiance that no words may tell!Beside the tree an Angel stood; he pluckedA few small sprays, and bound them round my head.Oh, the delicious touch of those strange leaves!No longer throbbed my brows, no more I feltThe fever in my limbs—"And oh," I cried,"Bind too my father's forehead with these leaves."One leaf the Angel took and therewith touchedHis forehead, and then gently whispered "Nay!"Never, oh never had I seen a faceMore beautiful than that Angel's, or more fullOf holy pity and of love divine.Wondering I looked awhile,—then, all at onceOpened my tear-dimmed eyes—When lo! the lightWas gone—the light as of the stars when snowLies deep upon the ground. No more, no more,Was seen the Angel's face. I only foundMy father watching patient by my bed,And holding in his own, close-prest, my hand.