FOR me no dead of night,
For me no night of sleep.
The dark is full of spectral light And wakefulness—how deep !
Al! who would watch with me? I close mine eyes and gaze; I see, through soundless revelry, Unpeopled teeming ways.
Face melting into face— In ones, in twos, in hosts—
An age-long moment stirs the space, Then joins the vanished ghosts.
I swim a tideless sea, Afloat in nothingness; Her mothering arm enfoldeth me All faint in her caress.
Thick thronging fantasies, Crowds, pageants . . . each forbids Ease to the eager aching eyes, The unquiet quivering lids.
A garden next. Like wine Its breath ethereal flows; The honey-heavy anodyne Of jasmine and of rose.
I see the tiny elves Blow kisses to the moon,
And dewdrops where they preen themselves From crown to flickering sheen.
Glimmers the fairy lake, Glimmers the fairy strand, And shadowy fairy ships that make For shadowy fairyland.
Through this—nor death nor life—
Breaks day; and I again Find Self, and Feeling; Knowledge, Strife, And Earth, and Mirk, and Men.
P. A. B4RNET1.