THE BEYOND You are warmer than moonlight, and colder. You swirl through an ether of sighs, You bloom in a region of sighs. You see that the tears are not dry on these cheeks, And you see that my love never dies. And you come past the stars of the night-time To point me the path to the skies To the eternal peace of the skies. To light my way with your bright eyes, The Beyond in your luminous eyes.

O HUMAN LOVE O human love! Thou Spirit Of all our hopes on Earth-- Into our souls you fall like rain, Blessed by the bright afar. O human life! Our summer sun, Whose waning is the dreariest. Love and life, like sunflowers, fall With wilted youth and faded light. Farewell! The Faraway draws near With music strange and slow. And my own voice will fade away, And all I sought to keep is lost. And rays of Truth you cannot see Are flashing through Eternity!

I WILL FLY BEYOND ALL REACHING I will fly beyond all reaching, Forsaking all precious things of life: The music of winds and vibrating strings, And my golden aspirations. No more will I see the blue distant hills, Beneath the lofting and lowering clouds. The gleaming of half-hidden silver streams, Beckonings of lonely lakes, The starry depths of deep wells. No more to hear the songs of birds, Or the sighing of the night-wind. No more to hear the surf that shouts to the shore. No more sensing the fresh breath of the forest, Or the voluptuous perfume of the rose. Or the scent that comes at Eventide, From far-distant and undiscovered islands… Over dim oceans… Unending and unexplored…

ALL MY SPELLS ARE BROKEN All, all my spells are broken I cannot, cannot, cannot write. All my spells are broken, I cannot, cannot, cannot think, Alas! I cannot feel. Tis not feeling, Not feeling, Not feeling, feeling, feeling, this— This standing motionless This standing motionless Standing motionless… Gazing entranced Upon the golden threshold Of the gate of dreams. Gazing entranced Upon the golden threshold Of the gate of dreams. Adown the gorgeous vista Thrilling as I see Upon the right, upon the left And all the way And all the way along And far Far away.

THY WILL IS DONE O SUN Thy will is done O Sun The Moon has flown thru many a storm, Beneath thy burning eye, And the red winds are withering in the sky. Virginia, your beauty has passed into my heart, As in a shrine. I know now, I have but a brief time to live, I rise like a mist to far Al Aaraaf.. Standing on the mountain summit, I stare across the sky To the haunt of night. Dim rays on my eyelids, Oh, the heavy light! I pass into the Mystery…

IN YOUTH I HAVE KNOWN ONE How often we forget all time, when lone Admiring Nature's universal throne; Her woods - her winds - her mountains - the intense Reply of Hers to Our intelligence! In youth I have known one with whom the Earth In secret communing held - as he with it, In daylight, and in beauty, from his birth: Whose fervid, flickering torch of life was lit From the sun and stars, whence he had drawn forth A passionate light - such for his spirit was fit - And yet that spirit knew - not in the hour Of its own fervour - what had o'er it power. Perhaps it may be that my mind is wrought To a fever by the moonbeam that hangs o'er, But I will half believe that wild light fraught With more of sovereignty than ancient lore Hath ever told - or is it of a thought The unembodied essence, and no more That with a quickening spell doth o'er us pass As dew of the night time, o'er the summer grass? Doth o'er us pass, when as th' expanding eye To the loved object - so the tear to the lid Will start, which lately slept in apathy? And yet it need not be - (that object) hid From us in life - but common - which doth lie Each hour before us - but then only bid With a strange sound, as of a harpstring broken T' awake us - 'Tis a symbol and a token - Of what in other worlds shall be - and given In beauty by our God, to those alone Who otherwise would fall from life and Heaven Drawn by their heart's passion, and that tone, That high tone of the spirit which hath striven Though not with Faith - with godliness - whose throne With desperate energy 't hath beaten down; Wearing its own deep feeling as a crown.

HERE IS THE HORIZON Here is the horizon, where the Night Springs from hidden gems of Light. From our high summits, one by one, Drop everlasting dews. Delirious, they fall, Upon the gardens of the desolate. O’er the strange woods, O’er the sea— O’er spirits on the wing, O’er every sleeping thing. In yon world, afar— Behold the wandering star. Into darkness he fell, Enthralled by Sorrow's spell— For Heaven no hope imparts To those who hear not, For the beating of their hearts. The wave is now upon him, Forsaken by the crowd. The moaning of the twilight flows Into the ear of him, Who gazes on the distance dim, And sees the Darkness coming as a cloud. How deep, so deep, Is the passion of his sleep! Into their world where sightless cycles run— Where all true love is folly and the crowd Mistake my terrors for a passing cloud— Now leave thy crystal home and fly, Cloaked with a radiant mist. Leave thy true form in the moonlit skies, And wing to the Earth-world in another guise. And so be to his heart, A lover and a guide, Till Al-Aaraaf should prison him inside. So soft and low thy lover's voice tonight shall flow, that, scarce awake, thy soul shall deem my words the music of a dream.

O PITY ME Now I am blinded Blinded with tears – I cannot live-- I cannot live another hour! I am desperate with grief – O pity me! God knows I loved Virginia, Virginia, Virginia. My last, my best, My only hold on life Is cruelly torn away. I have no desire to live, I have no desire to live, I have no desire to live! And I am wild Wild with grief – O pity me! O you, o you, o watchful heart— See! See my agony! My agony is infinite, My agony is infinite-- I am alone among strangers. My dearest, can you see me? My wretchedness is more, Much more than I can bear. And I am tortured Tortured with grief – O pity me! And nothing gives me Nothing gives me pleasure, I struggle on in vain Virginia don’t go! My heart will break, My heart will break forever! And you have driven And you And you have driven me Have driven me To the grave! God have mercy on me God have mercy on me God have mercy On my poor soul!

THE RAVEN-WINGED HOURS The tumult has subsided, The lights have died away, And the stranger stands alone. It is a day of days, A day of all days either to live or die. I am dying, yet shall I live. This is indeed no dream! Ill-fated and illustrious man! Bewildered in the brilliancy Of thine own imagination And fallen in the flames. Again I behold thee! Once more thy form hath risen before me! Not—oh! As thou art— In the cold valley and shadow— But as thou shouldst be. There are surely other worlds than this. I remember-- ah! How should I forget? The deep midnight, the silent flight Of the raven-winged hours! Thy visionary hours, A wasting away of life, The overflowings of Thine everlasting energies. And now it was, That we wrapped our spirits in dreaming. And now it was, That we wrapped our spirits In dreaming. There was a dim mist over all the earth, We were slowly drifting down. Seeking in vain the treasure Which was to be found, alas! Only within the abyss. It was a happiness to wonder— It was a happiness to dream. And then—I felt a sable spirit Enkindling within me. And then there fell A shadow on my soul. Misery is manifold. The wretchedness of the earth Is multiform. Over-reaching the wide horizon As the rainbow! Out of joy is sorrow born— The memory of past bliss Is the anguish of today. The poets ponder piningly Upon the ancient days— Blissful days When blue rivers ran undammed, Between hills unhewn, Into far forest solitudes, Primeval and unexplored. A fateful stain of melancholy Is entwined in the perfection Of the beautiful. Most fearfully, fearfully! Dreams are no more. In the place of hope Is the bitterness of despair. With the heart of a fiend I cursed the days and the hours And the bitter moments, Which seemed to lengthen and lengthen As your gentle life declined, Like shadows In the dying of the day. Ah Death, the spectre Which sits at all feasts! So grew in my heart The dread of that evil hour! Thus, in time it became Painful to love. And thus, joy faded into horror, And the most beautiful became The most hideous: That grave wherein my brightest hope lies. Stay for me there! I will not fail To meet thee in that hollow vale. Yes! Tears are gathering in those eyes, and see! “Thou hast conquered,” he exclaims; “so let it be!” Him so essentially apart From all other human beings. Beings like adders which writhe out From the eyes of grinning masks. My spirit is writhing in fire, in delirium. Flaring and flickering tongues Of emerald and violet fire, Beams of unnatural glory, In a thousand reflections, Like cataracts of molten silver. I yearn to hear the story Of your passing Through the dim regions In the dark Valley Of the river of Silence. To dream has been the business of my life. I have framed for myself, as you see, A bower of dreams. Awaking from the long day Into the very regions of fairyland— Into a palace of imagination. There is a remembrance of aerial forms— Of sounds, musical yet sad, A memory like a shadow. I, ill of health and buried in gloom. I, living within my own heart And addicted to painful regrets! To muse for long hours, To become absorbed in a shadow, To lose myself, for an entire night, In the embers of a fire. To dream away whole days Over the perfume of a flower. To lose all sense of earthly existence. And the evening closes in upon me, And then the darkness comes and goes, And the day again dawns, And mists of a second night are gathering around— And still I sit motionless in my solitude. And now it was That I wrapped my spirit in dreams. Now it was that, In twilight, I bethought of the days to come, For one to whose exalted intellect There would be no more poison’d knowledge. Wearied at heart with anxieties, In dreamy delirium I succumbed to the fierce fever. And the stars of my fate Faded from heaven. And the earth grew dark, And its figures pass’d by me like flitting shadows. And then-- all was mystery and terror! And now again all is void. Dust has returned to dust. The sense of Being Has utterly departed, And in its stead there reigns, Instead of any Thing, Only a point in the vague infinity. For he who is not— For that which has no form— For that which has no thought— For that which is soulless— For all this nothingness— Yet for all this immortality— The grave is still a home, And the corrosive hours, companions.