ANTHOLOGY OF MASSACHUSETTS POETS (16)

    O SWIFT forerunners¹, rosy² with the race！ Spirits of dawn, divinely manifest Behind your blushing banners in the sky, Daring invaders³ of Night's tenting-ground, How do ye strain on forward-bending foot, Each to be first in heralding⁴ of joy！

    With silence sandalled, so they weave their way, And so they stand, with silence panoplied⁵, Chanting, through mystic symbollings of flame, Their solemn invocation to the light.

    O changeless guardians⁶！  ye wizard first！ What strenuous⁷ philter feeds your potency⁸. That thus ye rest, in sweet wood-hardiness, Ready to learn of all and utter naught⁹？ What breath may move ye, or what breeze invite To odorous hot lendings of the heart？ What wind-but all the winds are yet afar, And e'en the little tricksy zephyr¹⁰ sprites, That fleet before them, like their elfin locks, Have lagged in sleep, nor stir nor waken yet To pluck the robe of patient majesty¹¹.

    Too still for dreaming, too divine for sleep, So range the firs, the constant, fearless ones. Warders of mountain secrets, there they wait, Each with his cloak about him, breathless, calm. And yet expectant, as who knows the dawn,

    And all night thrills with memory and desire, Searching in what has been for what shall be：

    The marvel¹² of the ne'er familiar day, Sacred investiture of life renewed, The chrism of dew, the coronal of flame. Low in the valley lies the conquered rout¹³ Of man's poor, trivial turmoil¹⁴, lost and drowned Under the mist, in gleaming rivers rolled, Where oozy¹⁵ marsh¹⁶ contends with frothing main. And rounding all, springs one full, ambient arch, One great good limpid¹⁷ world——so still, so still！ For no sound echoes from its crystal curve Save four clear notes, the song of that lone¹⁸ bird Who, brave but trembling, tries his morning hymn¹⁹, And has no heart to finish, for the awe²⁰ And wonder of this pearling globe of dawn.

    Light, light eternal！ veiling-place of stars！ Light, the revealer of dread²¹ beauty's face！

    Weaving whereof the hills are lambent clad！ Mighty²² libation to the Unknown God！ Cup whereat pine-trees slake²³ their giant thirst And little leaves drink sweet delirium²⁴！ Being and breath and potion！ living soul And all-informing heart of all that lives！ How can we magnify thine awful name Save by its chanting： Light！ and Light！ and Light！ An exhalation from far sky retreats, It grows in silence, as 'twere self-create, Suffusing²⁵ all the dusky web of night.

    But one lone corner it invades not yet, Where low above a black and rimy crag Hangs the old moon, thin as a battered²⁶ shield, The holy, useless shield of long-past wars, Dinted and frosty, on the crystal dark. But lo！ the east,——let none forget the east, Pathway ordained²⁷ of old where He should tread.

    Through some sweet magic common in the skies, The rosy banners are with saffron tinct； The saffron grows to gold, the gold is fire, And led by silence more majestical Than clash of conquering arms, He comes！ He comes！ He holds His spear benignant, sceptrewise, And strikes out flame from the adoring hills.