SUNRISE 1 In my sleep I was fain of their fellowship, fain Of the live-oak, the marsh, and the main. The little green leaves would not let me alone in my sleep; Up-breathed from the marshes, a message of range and of sweep, Interwoven with waftures of wild sealiberties, drifting, Came through the lapped leaves sifting, sifting, Came to the gates of sleep. Then my thoughts, in the dark of the dungeon-keep Of the Castle of Captives hid in the City of Sleep, Upstarted, by twos and by threes assembling: From what fount are these tears at thy feet which flow? They rise not from reason, but deeper inconsequent deeps. Reason 's not one that weeps. 1 'Sunrise,' Mr. Lanier's latest completed poem, was written while his sun of life seemed fairly at the setting, and the hand which first pencilled its lines had not strength to carry nourishment to the lips. Sunrise,' the culminating poem, the highest vision of Sidney Lanier, was dedicated through his latest request to that friend who indeed came into his life only near its close, yet was at first meeting recognized by the poet as the father of his spirit,' George Westfeldt. When words were very few and the poem was unread, even by any friend, the earnest bidding came: him my "Sunrise," that he may know how entirely we are one in thought.' (Poems, 1884.) Send Ye ministers meet for each passion that grieves, Friendly, sisterly, sweetheart leaves, Oh, rain me down from your darks that contain me Wisdoms ye winnow from winds that pain me, Sift down tremors of sweet-within-sweet That advise me of more than they bring, repeat Me the woods-smell that swiftly but now brought breath From the heaven-side bank of the river of death, Teach me the terms of silence, - preach Will break as a bubble o'er-blown in a dream, Yon dome of too-tenuous tissues of space and of night, Over-weighted with stars, over-freighted with light, Over-sated with beauty and silence, will seem But a bubble that broke in a dream, If a bound of degree to this grace be laid, Or a sound or a motion made. But no: it is made: list! somewhere, mystery, where? 100 In the leaves? in the air? In my heart? is a motion made: 'Tis a motion of dawn, like a flicker of shade on shade. In the leaves 't is palpable: low multitudinous stirring Upwinds through the woods; the little ones, softly conferring, Have settled my lord's to be looked for; so; they are still; But the air and my heart and the earth are a-thrill, And look where the wild duck sails round the bend of the river, And look where a passionate shiver Of the marsh-grass in serial shimmers and shades, Yet now the dew-drop, now the morning gray, Shall live their little lucid sober day Ere with the sun their souls exhale away. Now in each pettiest personal sphere of dew The summ'd morn shines complete as in the blue Big dew-drop of all heaven: with these lit shrines O'er-silvered to the farthest sea-confines, In the magnet earth, yea, thou with a storm for a heart, 170 Rent with debate, many-spotted with question, part From part oft sundered, yet ever a globèd light, Yet ever the artist, ever more large and bright Than the eye of a man may avail of: manifold One, I must pass from thy face, I must pass from the face of the Sun: Old Want is awake and agog, every wrinkle a-frown; The worker must pass to his work in the terrible town: But I fear not, nay, and I fear not the thing to be done; I am strong with the strength of my lord the Sun: How dark, how dark soever the race that must needs be run, I am lit with the Sun. Oh, never the mast-high run of the seas Of traffic shall hide thee, 180 |