_
O my deep waters, cataract and flood,
What wordless triumph did your voices render
O mountain-summits, where the angels stood
And shook from head and wing thick dews of splendour!
O my deep waters, cataract and flood,
What wordless triumph did your voices render
O mountain-summits, where the angels stood
And shook from head and wing thick dews of splendour!
Elizabeth Browning
What a full hum of life around his lips
Bore witness to the fulness of creation!
How all the grand words were full-laden ships
Each sailing onward from enunciation
To separate existence,--and each bearing
The creature's power of joying, hoping, fearing!
Yet I wail!
_Eve. _ They wail, beloved! they speak of glory and God,
And they wail--wail. That burden of the song
Drops from it like its fruit, and heavily falls
Into the lap of silence.
_Adam. _ Hark, again!
_First Spirit. _
I was so beautiful, so beautiful,
My joy stood up within me bold to add
A word to God's,--and, when His work was full,
To "very good" responded "very glad! "
Filtered through roses did the light enclose me,
And bunches of the grape swam blue across me--
Yet I wail!
_Second Spirit. _
I bounded with my panthers: I rejoiced
In my young tumbling lions rolled together:
My stag, the river at his fetlocks, poised
Then dipped his antlers through the golden weather
In the same ripple which the alligator
Left, in his joyous troubling of the water--
Yet I wail!
_First Spirit.
_
O my deep waters, cataract and flood,
What wordless triumph did your voices render
O mountain-summits, where the angels stood
And shook from head and wing thick dews of splendour!
How, with a holy quiet, did your Earthy
Accept that Heavenly, knowing ye were worthy!
Yet I wail!
_Second Spirit. _
O my wild wood-dogs, with your listening eyes!
My horses--my ground-eagles, for swift fleeing!
My birds, with viewless wings of harmonies,
My calm cold fishes of a silver being,
How happy were ye, living and possessing,
O fair half-souls capacious of full blessing!
Yet I wail!
_First Spirit. _
I wail, I wail! Now hear my charge to-day,
Thou man, thou woman, marked as the misdoers
By God's sword at your backs! I lent my clay
To make your bodies, which had grown more flowers:
And now, in change for what I lent, ye give me
The thorn to vex, the tempest-fare to cleave me--
And I wail!
_Second Spirit. _
I wail, I wail! Behold ye that I fasten
My sorrow's fang upon your souls dishonoured?
Accursed transgressors!
