371. The Slumberer

O THOU mysterious One, lying asleep

Within the lonely chamber of my soul!

Thou art my life’s true goal,

Thine is the only altar that I keep.

Rapt in the contemplation of thy repose,

I see in thy still face that Mystic Rose

Whose perfume is my soul’s imaginings,

And Beauty at whose awesomeness I weep

With over-plenitude of ecstasy.

Thy slumber is the great world-mystery—

The paradigm of all the latent things

That in their destined hour Time magnifies:

Its emblems are the intimate hush that lies

Over the moonlit lake;

The wonder and the ache

Of unborn love that trembles in its sleep;

The hope that thrills the heavy earth

With presage of becoming, and vast birth;

The secret of the caverns of the deep.