Page:Dreams and Images.djvu/61

        To tinge the presaged dole with sweet,
O! prophet then, be prophet now
        And paraclete!

That fateful May! The pregnant vernal night
  Was throbbing with the first faint pangs of day,
The while with ordered urge toward life and light,
  Earth-atoms countless groped their destined way;
        And one full-winged to fret
        Its tender oubliette,
The warding mother-heart above it woke,
  Darkling she lay in doubt, then, sudden wise,
Whispered her husband's drowsy ear and broke
  The estranging seal of slumber from his eyes:
  "My hour is nigh: arise!"

Already, when, with arms for comfort linked,
  The lovers at an eastward window stood,
The rosy day, in cloudy swaddlings, blinked
  Through misty green new-fledged in Wister Wood.
        Breathless upon this birth
        The still-entranced earth
Seemed brooding, motionless in windless space.
  Then rose thy priestly chant, O! holy bird!
And heaven and earth were quickened with its grace;
  To tears two wedded souls were moved who heard,
  And one, unborn, was stirred!

O! Comforter, enough that from thy green
  Hid tabernacle in the wood's recess
To those care-haunted lovers thou, unseen,
  Should'st send thy flame-tipped song to cheer and bless.
        Enough for them to hear