Chapter I: Earth

NOON: AMAGANSETT BEACH

Glory--glory to God in the highest--and on earth,
Glory! The everlasting sun
Has laid his hand upon the harp-string, with the music of his mirth
Heaven and ocean are one chord, in unison.

He has spoken--he has spoken--from his midmost throne
In the blue hollow of noon he has spoken! Heaven has heard
The sound of the song of his shining; he has made known
To listening Space his wonder, and revealed his word--

Who sheds his light upon the earth, and upon the dark place,
Light! And upon the waters of the sea,
Light! O Father, pour down thy light upon me--touch my face!
Hallow me, my Father--even me.

Here, where the long ranges of the dunes roll
Their tawny billows to the south and to the north, and against the sky
Flutters the pale sea-grass, fresh is the wind--and the whole
Clear hollow of heaven is full of the wine of thy glory, even as I.

The waves curve upward--they fail--they fall--
Dragging, dragging, along the dim sea-reach,
The heavy hem of the garment of the waters; rhythmical, rhythmical
Is the rustle of the sea’s robe upon the beach.

Along the shallows, along the far shore-line
They burst in thunder and light--where the gray shingles gleam,
The tongue of the foam is a tongue of fire: the hollows of
the breakers shine,
Darken--and are shattered as a dream.

But out where the further waters have their sleep,
On the pale meadows of ocean, on the barren fields and bare,
That the sea-bird wanders, that the sea-wind wanders--on
the illimitable Deep,
Silence. The silence of the immensity is like a prayer.

Interminable--interminable--interminable--the void sea--
The many ways, the many waves. In the huge round
Of the sorrowful heavens, in the hushed vacancy,
No voice.... Vastness without bound.

This is my heart’s country. These lonely lands
Are one with my wild, lonely heart; these winds and waves that roam
Old, desolate ways forever--they are one with me--these sterile sands
And bitter waters. Here is my heart’s home.

Amid these large horizons and spaces that she loves,
My spirit’s thought, on lorn adventurings
And inconsolable quests intent, endlessly moves--
And spreads upon the eternal solitude her fleeting wings:

Even as a sea-bird on the changeless, changing,
Pale pastures lost, as a sea-bird on the wild waste astray,
Searching the everlasting reaches--failing--faltering--like
a sea-bird ranging--
Wandering, wandering the wide way.

* * * * *

Loneliness--loneliness forever. Dune beyond dune,
Stretches the infinite loneliness--pale sand and pale sea-grass,
Pale beaches, mile upon mile. In the immensity of noon
A hawk moves upon the wind. Clouds darken, and pass....

The sound of the breathing of the sea is hushed, on the far shore
Her robe lies fallen; the white waves, one by one,
Subside into slumber, and cease into slumber: from the
blue vault to the blue floor
Heaven is a shining room filled full of the sun.

He hallows the waters. The benediction of his light is shed
Upon the proud waters. Emerald--turquoise--chrysoprase--
Glitter the waters! The garment of his glory is spread
Upon the everlasting waters, upon the everlasting ways.

THE UNDISCOVERED COUNTRY

Heaven is full of stars to-night, the earth Lies hushed, as she shall lie some day perhaps, When life and death no longer trouble her-- No voice, no cry in the whole countryside. The empty road rambles through field and thicket, And in the road are prints of hoof and foot. Along the surface of this lonely planet, Now naked to the hunger of the stars, Man and beast--on the old pilgrimage-- They passed together here, not long ago.

What was it they were looking for I wonder, Or if, themselves, they knew? Where were they going? Footsteps--always footsteps going somewhere-- What country is it that they all are seeking, Who up and down the world, by night or day, Move with such patience, always to one end?

Not the least sound. Not the least leaf disturbs The immemorial majesty of heaven. Footprints--only footprints going somewhere....

Wherever they were going, they are gone.

THE HOLY EARTH

In the immense cathedral of the holy earth,
Whose arches are the heavens and the great vault above,
Groined with its myriad stars--what miracles of birth,
What sacraments of death, what rituals of love!

Her nave is the wide world and the whole length of it,
One flame on all her altars kindles her many fires;
Wherever the clear tapers of trembling life are lit
Resound for joy the old, indomitable choirs.

The holy church of earth with clamorous worshippers
Is crowded and fierce hungers, faithful every one
To the one faith; that stern and simple faith of hers
Contents the heart that asks no pity, giving none.

Each on the other feeds, and all on each are fed,
And each for all is offered--a living offering, where
In agony and triumph the ancient feast is spread,
Life’s sacramental supper, that all her sons may share.

They mingle with one another, blend--mingle--merge, and flow
Body into wild body; in rapture endlessly
Weaving, with intricate motions of being, to and fro,
The pattern of all Being, one mighty harmony:

One Body of all bodies woven and interwrought--
One Self in many selves, through their communion
In love and death, made perfect; wherein each self is nought
Save as it serve the many, mysteriously made One.

And all are glad for life’s sake, and all have found it good
From the beginning; all, through many and warring ways,
In savage vigor of life and wanton hardihood
Live out, like a brave song, the passion of their days.

With music woven of lust and music woven of pain,
Chapel and aisle and choir, the great cathedral rings--
One voice in all her voices chaunting the old disdain
Of pity, the clean hunger of all primal things.

From the trembling of Arcturus even to the tiny nest
Of the grey mouse the glories of her vast frame extend:
The span of her great arches, stretching from east to west,
Is endless--the immense reaches are without end.

* * * * *

Evening closes. The light from heaven’s high window falls
Vaguer and softer now. In vain the twilight pleads
With stubborn night, his shadow looms on the massive walls--
Darkness. The immemorial ritual proceeds.

The spider in her quivering web watches and waits;
The moth flutters entangled, in agony of fear
He beats amid the toils that bind him; she hesitates
Along the trembling wires--she pauses--she draws near.

She weaves her delicate bondage around him; in the net,
As in a shroud, he labors--but, labor as he will,
The cunning threads hold fast; her drowsy mouth is set
Against the body that shivers softly, and is still.

And through the leafy dark the owl with noiseless flight
Moves, peering craftily among the tangled trees
And thickets of the wood all slumbrous in the night--
The fledgling’s bitter cry comes sharp upon the breeze.

With dreadful ceremony all things together move
To the one end: shrill voices in triumph all around
Prolong deliriously their monotone of love--
Arches and aisles are heavy with incense and dim sound.

Hush--the whole world is kneeling! Murmurous is the air--
The Host is lifted up. Upon the altar lies
The sacramental Body. The wind breathes like a prayer--
Solemnly is renewed the eternal sacrifice.

With mingled moan and might of warring wills made one
The vast cathedral shudders. From chancel, nave and choir
Sounds the fierce hymn to life: her holy will be done!
Upon her myriad altars flames the one sacred fire.

LONELINESS WITHOUT END

Unsearchable is the Imagination
That stretches out the heavens, and around
The shores of earth widens, in exultation,
The infinite waters without bourn or bound.

Between the immensities of heaven and ocean
My spirit’s thought makes forward falteringly,
Lone as a sea-bird that with veering motion
Moves on the windy meadows of the sea.

Far though she fare, far though her flight aspire--
However far--it shall but be to find
New wastes beyond, new ways for the desire
Of the unfathomable and spacious Mind.

In the vast reaches of His meditation--
The sorrowful distances--her stricken wings
Flag, failing her; my heart’s imagination
Faints, in the lonely endlessness of things.

THIS QUIET DUST

Here in my curving hands I cup This quiet dust--I lift them up.

Here is the mother of all thought, Of this the shining heavens are wrought, The laughing lips, the feet that rove, The face, the body that you love: Mere dust, no more--yet nothing less; And this has suffered consciousness, Passion and terror; this again Shall suffer passion, death, and pain.

For, as all flesh must die, so all, Now dust, shall live. ’Tis natural; Yet hardly do I understand-- Here in the hollow of my hand A bit of God Himself I keep, Between two vigils fallen asleep.

LONE BEAUTY

Immortal Beauty in this mortal heart, Lone Beauty dwelling in these hearts that die, How shall it be with me when you are gone, Leaving me broken in the darkness here!

Where shall I seek you in that hour when Time Roars in my ears, and the Reality, At whose dear breast my mouth of being clung, Recedes, refusing me? Then shall I hear The sound of some irrevocable thing Slowly withdrawn--shouts and reverberations, Echoes and murmurs of the sea of life Ebbing forever from the fading brain-- And my last thought run on, crying, to you.

But you--O darling and indifferent-- Amid the multitudinous minds of men Shall live forever, lonely as before.

SEA-VOYAGE

To what dark purpose was the Will employed
That fashioned, ere the dawn of Time grew dim,
The waste of ocean--from clear rim to rim
A crystal chamber, sorrowful and void?

For, surely, not without design He wrought
These vast horizons on whose margins rest
The extremes of heaven, nor from east to west
Widened the waters to the bounds of thought.

Half-hopeful, half-incredulous, I wait
For some gigantic Presence to assume
His throne in the large circle of the room.
The dreadful distances are desolate.

In vain! In vain! He is departed hence
Whose breath troubles the waters of the sea:
Twilight and night are sworn to secrecy,
The heavens preserve their ancient innocence.

In the enormous throne-room of the sun
No voice is audible. The waves are mute.
Solitude, infinite and absolute,
Bears witness to the unreturning One.

Evening, on the lorn reaches of the sea,
Comes vast and patient; but the night is kind--
Her hand is pity, scarfing up the blind
Sorrows and wastes of the immensity.

The wind is soft among the swaying spars.
Heaven deepens; dusk reveals the glittering height
And cloudless glory of the arch of night,
Bowed down from rim to rim with solemn stars.

When dawn across the broad and billowing plain
Casts her pale fire, the monstrous solitude
Of huddling waters--the old hope renewed--
Thrills with blind love and yearns, but all in vain.

Sheer to the east, sheer to the west extend,
Far as the wandering wings of thought may grope,
The eternal vacancies. No hope, no hope--
Distance, distance forever, without end.

Hour by hour and day on burning day,
Our vessel plows the soft, reluctant foam;
Hour by hour and mile on mile, we roam
The lonely and the everlasting way.

Still fades before us the enormous round--
Blue sea below, blue heaven overhead--
The Void, eternal and untenanted,
A chamber for His splendor, without bound.

STONE AND IRON

Night--and the shadow of great walls.
The city sleeps, her muffled pulses start--
And ebb, flagging in the long intervals.
I lie alone, with wakeful heart.

In stone and iron bound,
Brood the old sorrows; avenue and street
Are hushed--no sob, no sound of feet.
My heart listens. Not a sound.

My heart listens. A cry
Pierces the dark--a lonely voice somewhere
Trembles, and is still. I hear a cry
Out of the dark, somewhere.

Night slumbers on....
The cañons are
Empty--no echo save
For a lone car
Far-off, that rumbles and is gone.
Then silence--the silence of the grave.

THE LOWLAND COUNTRY

O that I might be again
In the leafy solitudes
Where the ancient beauty broods
And the heart is healed of pain!

In a certain hidden place
Shined-on by the evening-star,
Where the woods and waters are
Dear as a belovèd face.

’Tis a country to my mind:
All the hills and heights are green,
With clear meadows in between--
All the woods and ways are kind.

There the spider all day long
Spins her web with cunning skill,
And the cricket on the hill
Makes one music of his song.

Night and day a dreamy noise
Hovers ’round it--night and day,
And the world is far away,
And the silence has a voice.

In the lowlands, in the deep
Solitude for miles around,
To a hushed and happy sound
Time itself has fallen asleep.

O that I were there again,
By the meadows drenched with dew!
Where the ancient dream comes true,
And the heart is healed of pain.

AUTUMN ALONG THE BEACHES

A year, with all its days, has come and gone
Since last under the arch of heaven I stood
In the old ecstasy, and looked upon
These endless waters, this bleak solitude.

All is unchanged: the sea-birds wheel and pass,
The patient dunes go down along the sky
In wavering lines of green, from the scant grass
A single cricket lifts his solemn cry.

Autumn is on the wind; the chilly air
Is wide and vacant, the pale waters seem
Paler and lonelier--lonely and bare,
The tawny beaches, fading like a dream.

On the right hand of heaven there is light--
And on the left is darkness and the gray
Cover of cloud; southward the sea is bright--
But northward sorrow and shadow all the way.

Dull blues and purples, glossy black and green,
On the one hand--and on the other, sheer
Glory of gold! The waters in between
Are doubtful--half in hope, and half in fear.

But always a cold light along the rim
Wells secretly, the under-heavens cast
Cold light along the verge under the dim
Borders of darkness where the clouds are massed.

Around one center the slow bulk revolves;
Far out, a haze curtains the mystery
Of some ecstatic deed--the cloud dissolves
And sheds his drifting rain upon the sea.

It is the bridal of heaven and ocean--brief
Is the rapt moment ere the gauzy veil,
Crumbling, is lifted. As with tremulous grief
Of parting, the divided wastes are pale.

Wan wastes of wave, and glimmering wastes that crowd
The worn horizon--passion and regret.
Sea-scud, and faltering light, and trailing cloud
Reluctant, where the old longing labors yet.

The slant rain slackens. From the hopeful, blue
Meadows of heaven, widening evermore,
A sudden shaft of light comes piercing through,
And points a shining finger down the shore.

Alternate gleam and shadow! Like a wand
The running radiance all along the line
Travels with soundless motion. Far beyond,
Headlands and dunes and brightening beaches shine.

Darkness is rolled away: the great banks move
Northward, save for a few high streaks that show
The vault of heaven still higher far above--
So high they seem, yet lie so far below.

They move like swans upon an azure lake--
The bleak skies of the autumn afternoon
Wash ’round them in chill loveliness and make
Their fleecy edges brighter, fading soon.

The room of the world is bare from bound to bound,
A vacant chamber--heaven overhead
Is a blue ceiling, the heavens that wall it ’round
Are blue, before me the blue floors are spread.

Blue mile on mile, from deep to azure height
Eastward, the everlasting arches loom!
Blue mile on mile forever to the bright
Limits! The world is like an empty room.

On the void sea no sail, no sign. Far out,
A lone bird, through the shifting corridors
Of billowing water blown and tossed about,
Wavers and veers along the windy floors.

Loneliness--endlessness--and mystery!
No voice disturbs the silence of the sun.
No shadow is on the surface of the sea.
The clouds are scattered and darkness is undone.

The huddled waters in their sorrow move
At the wind’s will that herds them without stay
Over the barren reaches, drove on drove--
A myriad waves all moving the one way.

SUNDOWN

Evening--and shadows lengthening to the east, Cold light along the rim; and our Father, the sun, Gone westward in a glory of trailing cloud.

O holy Father of us all-- Praise him, earth, with all your voices! Praise him, wind and sea! For though he forsake you, surely he shall return.

Hail, Father, and well done--for now it is ended! The earth, my mother, praises-- And I praise you, Who am, by her, your true-born child.

THE HEART GROWS OLD

I

I have come back at last to the old home,
After long days of absence. It was here
That in my burning youth I loved and sang,
And all that I have loved and lost is here;
And still the meadows and the woods are dear
And beautiful--though now to me they are
Less beautiful, less dear.

Earth and her dreams remain forever young,
It is not beauty that grows old, but I:
The moon floods the pale cloud, and from the grass
The cricket sounds the endless song--but I
Am silent. Listen!--it is the owlet’s cry.
O heart of mine, what distance have we come
Since last we heard that cry!