Part 24

The shore was low, with just the faintest rise Of many-colored sands and shreds of shells, Until about a stone's far throw they met A fringe of faded grass, with here and there A pale-green shrub; and farther into land -- Another stone's throw farther -- there were trees -- Tall, dark, wild trees, with intertwining arms, Each almost touching each, as if they feared To stand alone and look upon the sea. The night was in the trees -- the evening on the shore. We walked between the evening and the night -- Between the trees and tide we silent strolled. There lies between man's silence and his speech A shadowy valley, where thro' those who pass Are never silent, tho' they may not speak; And yet they more than breathe. It is the vale Of wordless sighs, half uttered and half-heard. It is the vale of the unutterable. We walked between our silence and our speech, And sighed between the sunset and the stars, One hour beside the sea.

There was a cloud Far o'er the reach of waters, hanging low 'Tween sea and sky -- the banner of the storm, Its edges faintly bright, as if the rays That fled far down the West had rested there And slumbered, and had left a dream of light. Its inner folds were dark -- its central, more. It did not flutter; there it hung, as calm As banner in a temple o'er a shrine. Its shadow only fell upon the sea, Above the shore the heavens bended blue. We walked between the cloudless and the cloud, That hour, beside the sea.

But, quick as thought, There gleamed a sword of wild, terrific light -- Its hilt in heaven, its point hissed in the sea, Its scabbard in the darkness -- and it tore The bannered cloud into a thousand shreds, Then quivered far away, and bent and broke In flashing fragments;

And there came a peal That shook the mighty sea from shore to shore, But did not stir a sand-grain on the beach; Then silence fell, and where the low cloud hung Clouds darker gathered -- and they proudly waved Like flags before a battle.

We twain walked -- We walked between the lightning's parted gleams, We walked between the thunders of the skies, We walked between the wavings of the clouds, We walked between the tremblings of the sea, We walked between the stillnesses and roars Of frightened billows; and we walked between The coming tempest and the dying calm -- Between the tranquil and the terrible -- That hour beside the sea.

There was a rock Far up the winding beach that jutted in The sea, and broke the heart of every wave That struck its breast; not steep enough nor high To be a cliff, nor yet sufficient rough To be a crag; a simple, low, lone rock; Yet not so low as that its brow was laved By highest tide, yet not sufficient high To rise beyond the reach of silver spray That rained up from the waves -- their tears that fell Upon its face, when they died at its feet. Around its sides damp seaweed hung in long, Sad tresses, dripping down into the sea. A tuft or two of grass did green the rock, A patch or so of moss; the rest was bare.

Adown the shore we walked 'tween eve and night; But when we reached the rock the eve and night Had met; light died; we sat down in the dark Upon the rock.

Meantime a thousand clouds Careered and clashed in air -- a thousand waves Whirled wildly on in wrath -- a thousand winds Howled hoarsely on the main, and down the skies Into the hollow seas the fierce rain rushed, As if its ev'ry drop were hot with wrath; And, like a thousand serpents intercoiled, The lightnings glared and hissed, and hissed and glared, And all the horror shrank in horror back Before the maddest peals that ever leaped Out from the thunder's throat.

Within the dark We silent sat. No rain fell on the rock, Nor in on land, nor shore; only on sea The upper and the lower waters met In wild delirium, like a thousand hearts Far parted -- parted long -- which meet to break, Which rush into each other's arms and break In terror and in tempests wild of tears. No rain fell on the rock; but flakes of foam Swept cold against our faces, where we sat Between the hush and howling of the winds, Between the swells and sinking of the waves, Between the stormy sea and stilly shore, Between the rushings of the maddened rains, Between the dark beneath and dark above.

We sat within the dread heart of the night: One, pale with terror; one, as calm and still And stern and moveless as the lone, low rock.

* * * * *

Lake Como

Winter on the mountains Summer on the shore, The robes of sun-gleams woven, The lake's blue wavelets wore.

Cold, white, against the heavens, Flashed winter's crown of snow, And the blossoms of the spring-tide Waved brightly far below.

The mountain's head was dreary, The cold and cloud were there, But the mountain's feet were sandaled With flowers of beauty rare.

And winding thro' the mountains The lake's calm wavelets rolled, And a cloudless sun was gilding Their ripples with its gold.

Adown the lake we glided Thro' all the sunlit day; The cold snows gleamed above us, But fair flowers fringed our way

The snows crept down the mountain, The flowers crept up the slope, Till they seemed to meet and mingle, Like human fear and hope.

But the same rich, golden sunlight Fell on the flowers and snow, Like the smile of God that flashes On hearts in joy or woe.

And on the lake's low margin The trees wore stoles of green, While here and there, amid them, A convent cross was seen.

Anon a ruined castle, Moss-mantled, loomed in view, And cast its solemn shadow Across the water's blue.

And chapel, cot, and villa, Met here and there our gaze, And many a crumbling tower That told of other days.

And scattered o'er the waters The fishing boats lay still, And sound of song so softly Came echoed from the hill.

At times the mountain's shadow Fell dark across the scene, And veiled with veil of purple The wavelets' silver sheen.

But for a moment only The lake would wind, and lo! The waves would near the glory Of the sunlight's brightest glow.

At times there fell a silence Unbroken by a tone, As if no sound of voices Had ever there been known.

Through strange and lonely places We glided thus for hours; We saw no other faces But the faces of the flowers.

The shores were sad and lonely As hearts without a love, While darker and more dreary The mountains rose above.