Page:The roamer and other poems (1920).djvu/112

From all the world beside—O blessèd grace!
And now he rose on the third crag. Far west,
O'er lofty plains the sun yet poured his light,
And, a blue cone, the lonely mountain towered.
"New lands!" the Roamer sighed; but ere the breath
Had left his lips, he saw a figure stand
As one who waits beside the way: "Faint not!
Remember from how far thou camest!" The words
Fell like a benediction, angel-winged.
Compact of sweet affections was the voice,
That soothed the air; hushed was the atmosphere;
Tranquil all things waited day's golden close.
Again the figure spoke: "Far I, too, came
To greet thee on the road of mystery
Thou followest, even from yon shining mount,
The font and origin of all pure sight.
There is the head of this rich-dropping stream,
Which seeks the under-world; in that high air
Shadow and substance roll a common flood,
One in the other, and the wave so clear
That only by the image is it seen.
Not light itself hath such lucidity.
In such a stream Narcissus saw of yore
The image of himself,—which was the world

All subtly changed into the beautiful