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I
dreamed that in myself the world I saw,
Wherein three Angels strove for mastery. Law
Was one, clear vision and denial cold,
Yet in her limits strong, presumptuous, bold;
The second with enthusiasm bright,
Flame in her heart but round her brows the night,
Faded as this advanced. She could not bear
That searching gaze, nor the strong chilling air
These thoughts created, nourishing our parts
Of mind, but petrifying human hearts.
Science was one, the other gave her name,
Religion. But a third behind them came,
Veiled, vague, remote, and had as yet no right
Upon the world, but lived in her own light.
Wide were the victories of the Angel proud
Who conquered now and in her praise were loud
The nations. Few even yet to the other clove,
–
And
some were souls of night and some were souls of love.
But
this was confident and throned. Her heralds ranged
Claiming
that night was dead and all things changed;
For
all things opened, all seemed clear, seemed bright
–
Save
the vast ranges that they left in night.
However, the light they shed upon the earth
Was great indeed, a firm and mighty birth.
A century’s progress lived before my eyes.
Delivered from amazement and surprise,
Man’s spirit measuring his worlds around
The laws of sight divined and laws of sound.
Light was not hidden from its searching gaze,
Nor matter could deny her myriad maze
To the cold enquiry; for the far came near,
The small loomed large, the intricate grew clear.
Measuring
and probing the strong Angel strode,
Dissolving
and combining, till she trod
Firmly among the stars, could weigh their forms,
Foretold
the earthquakes, analysed the storms.
Doubt seemed to end and wonder’s reign was closed.
The stony pages of the earth disclosed
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Their unremembered secrets. Horses of steam
Were bitted and the lightnings made a team
To draw our chariots. Heaven was scaled at last
And
the loud seas subdued. Distance resigned
Its strong obstructions to the mastering mind.
So moved that spirit trampling; then it laid
Its hand at last upon itself, how this was made
Wondering,
and sought to class and sought to trace
Mind
by its forms, the wearer by the dress.
Then the other arose and met that spirit robust,
Who
laboured; she now grew a shade who must
Fade
wholly away, yet to her fellow cried,
“I pass, for thou hast laboured well and wide.
Thou
thinkest term and end for thee are not;
But thoueih thy pride is great, thou hast forgot
The Sphinx that waits for man beside the way.
All questions thou mayst answer, but one day
Her question shall await thee. That reply,
As all we must; for they, who cannot, die.
She slays them and their mangled bodies lie
Upon the highways of eternity.
Therefore, if thou wouldst live, know first this thing,
Who
thou art in this dungeon labouring.”
And Science confidently, “Nothing am I but earth,
Tissue
and nerve and from the seed a birth,
A mould, a plasm, a gas, a little that is much.
In these grey cells that quiver to each touch
The secret lies of man; they are the thing called I.
Matter
insists and matter makes reply.
Shakespeare was this; this force in Jesus yearned
And
conquered by the cross; this only learned
The
secret of the suns that blaze afar;
This was Napoleon’s giant mind of war.”
I heard and marvelled in myself to see
The infinite deny infinity.
Yet the weird paradox seemed justified;
Even mysticism shrank out-mystified.
But the third Angel came and touched my eyes;
I saw the mornings of the future rise,
I heard the voices of an age unborn
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That
comes behind us and our pallid morn,
And from the heart of an approaching light
One said to man, “Know thyself infinite,
Who shalt do mightier miracles than these,
Infinite,
moving mid infinities.”
Then from our hills the ancient answer pealed,
“For
Thou, O Splendour, art myself concealed,
And
the grey cell contains me not, the star
I outmeasure and am older than the elements are.
Whether
on earth or far beyond the sun,
I, stumbling, clouded, am the Eternal One.”
Immortal
Love
If
I had wooed thee for thy colour rare,
Cherished
the rose in thee
Or wealth of Nature’s brilliants in thy hair,
O
woman fair,
My love might cease to be.
Or,
had I sought thee for thy virtuous youth
And
tender yearning speech,
Thy swift compassion and deliberate truth,
O
heart of ruth,
Time might pursue, might reach.
But
I have loved thee for thyself indeed
And
with myself have snared;
Immortal
to immortal I made speed.
Change
I exceed
And am for Time prepared.
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