Arthur Quiller-Couch, comp. The Oxford Book of Victorian Verse. 1922.
A Northern VigilBliss Carman (18611929)
H
In the wintry heart of the wild,
Comes the old dream of thee,
Guendolen, mistress and child.
In the drift against my door;
A voice is under the eaves,
A footfall on the floor.
Vacant and strangely aware,
Wait for their soul’s recall
With the dumb expectant air.
Burns down into the sea,
I take no heed of rest
And keep the watch for thee.
The restless wind go by,
On the long dirge and drear,
Under the low bleak sky.
And night makes in for land,
There is no lock for thee,
Each door awaits thy hand!
And dawn comes down the dale,
It ’s O for the wild sweet will
That shall no more prevail!
And snow-wraiths gather and run,
And there is set no bound
To love beneath the sun,
The old mad wilful way,
The soft mouth at my ear
With words too sweet to say!
The ghostly moonlight fills
Hollow and rift and fold
Of the eerie Ardise hills!
Are dark with bitter frost,
The stillness aches with doom
Of something loved and lost.
Burns in the ghostland pale,
Where giant Algebar
Holds on the endless trail.
And silence keeps the door,
Where shapes with the shadows throng
The firelit chamber floor.
With the red embers’ glare
Across thy folding arm
And dark tumultuous hair!
The sleep-cry of no bird,
The keepers of the house
Shall tremble at thy word.
In all the vast dreamland
There is no lock for thee,
Each door awaits thy hand.
Fleering, perishing, dim,
But thy old self, supple and tall,
Mistress and child of whim!
Impetuous and serene,
The sad mysterious eyes,
And dignity of mien!
When the late hill-winds veer,
And the bright hill-flowers burn
With the reviving year?
Sparkles as if it smiled,
Will they restore to me
My dark Love, empress and child?
A sound is on the stair,
As if at the last … I start;
Only the wind is there.
The crimson fumes uncurl’d,
Where the caldron mantles and spills
Another dawn on the world!