  On Gilead road the shadows creep; ('Tis noon, and I forget;) By Gilead road the ferns are deep, And waves run emerald, wind-beset, To some unsanded shore Of doe and dove and fay; And I for love of that before, Forget the hindward way. By Gilead road a river runs, (To what unshadowed sea?) Bough-hidden here,—there by the sun's Gold treachery unbared to me. O Beauty in retreat, From beckoned eyes you steal, But the pursuing heart, more fleet, Lifts your secretest veil. Their domes where thrushes sing! My heart glides in, a worshipper At shrines that ne'er knew offering, Nor eye hath seen, and yet What soul hath not been there, Deep in song's fane where we forget To pray, for we are prayer. And now the shadows start and glide; I hear soft, woodland feet; And who are they that deeper bide Where beechen twilights meet? What trancÈd beings smile On things I may not see? As with a dream they would beguile Their own eternity? I too shall find my own as they; ('Tis eve, and I forget;) Here in this world where mortals play As gods with no god's leave or let. Desire erst lockt and kept, On wing unbarred shall seek and choose,— Ay, choose, when I have slept. For happy roads may yet be long, And bliss must sometime bed. Fern-deep I fall, lose sight and song, The slim palms close above my head, And Life, the Shadow, weaves The charm on sleepers laid Till Time's spent ghost comes not nor grieves An hourless Gilead. Ay me, I dream my eyes are wet; I sigh, I turn, I weep. Alack, that waking we forget But to remember when we sleep! O vision of closed eyes, That burns the heart awake! O the forgotten truth's reprise For the forsaken's sake! Thy hot, unsilenced breath; Meet thy unburied eyes of pain That, dying ever, find no death; See childhood's one gold hour Bartered for crust and bed, And man's o'erdriven noon devour His evening peace and bread. I hear men sob,—ay, men,—and shout To souls on Gilead road: "Tell us the way—we sent ye out— We bought ye free—we paid our blood!" Gaunt arms make signal mad; O, feel the woe-waves break! Does no one hear in Gilead? Will one, not one turn back? Rolls higher from the land blood-red That sea-surge of despair! A flame creeps over Gilead, Unseen, unfelt by any there. Doom shadows round them dance, And smile meets slow, unstartled smile As in it sleep's mid-chance. "We give our days, we give our blood, We send ye far to see! We break beneath the double load That ye may walk unbowed and free! 'Tis ours, the healing shade; 'Tis ours, the singing stream; 'Tis ours, the charm on sleepers laid; 'Tis ours, the toil-won dream!" Dim grown is Gilead, ashen, lost To me who hear that cry. "Our every star is hid with dust; The way, the way! Let us not die!" Up from the trampled ferns, (O Beauty's praying hands!) I stricken start, as one who turns From plague's unholy lands. An unresolving fire, Till beacon hearts make it their own And men are lit with man's desire. I mourn no Gilead fair, Back to my own I speed, And all my tears are falling where They sell the sun for bread. Mine too the blow, the unwept scar; Mine too the flames that sere; And on my breast not one proud star That leaves a brother's heaven bare. Life is the search of God For His own unity; I walk stone-bare till all are shod, No gold may sandal me. I come, O comrades, faster yet! For me no bough-hung shade Till every burning foot be set In ferns of Gilead. Once mine, is mine once more; And I forget the way behind, So dear is that before. |
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