Page:Poems Whitney.djvu/118

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112
camille.
Dreams!—Stain it on the bending amethyst,
That one who came with visions of the Prime
For guide, somehow her radiant pathway missed,
And wandered in the darkest gulf of Time!
   No deed divine, thenceforth,
Stood royal in its far-related worth—
No God, in truth, might heal the wounded chime.

O how? I darkly ask.—And if I dare
Take up a thought from this tumultuous street
To the forgotten Silence, soaring there
Above the hiving roofs, its calm depths meet
   My glance with no reply.
Might I go back and spell this mystery
In that new stillness at my mother's feet!

I would recall with importunings long
Her so sad soul, once pierced as with a knife;
And cry, Forgive! O think, youth's tide was strong,
And the full torrent, shut from brain and life,