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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=536347" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Rhapsody</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">There is a God most surely in the heavens,<br>Who smileth always, though His face be hid.<br>And young Joy cometh as His messenger<br>Upon the Earth, like to a rushing wind,<br>Scattering the dead leaves of our discontent<br>Ere yet we see him. Then he setteth us<br>Upon his back and flieth to God's presence,<br>Till on our faces there is seen the light<br>Which streameth from His brows for evermore.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">There is a God. Ay, by this breath of dawn,<br>I swear there is a God, even here on Earth.<br>And see, a blush upon the edge of heaven,<br>Bearing me witness! There is something changed<br>About these woods since yesterday; a look<br>Of shame on Nature's face; a consciousness<br>In the bent flowers; a troubled tell--tale gleam<br>On the lake's brim. This morning, as I passed<br>Over the lawn, there was an instant's hush<br>Among the trees, and then a whispering<br>Which woke the birds; and of a sudden, lo!<br>A thousand voices breathed conspiracy;<br>And now a silence. There are listening ears<br>In all these bushes waiting till I speak.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">There is a God. I swear it on the truth<br>Of my new joy, which is not of the Earth,<br>But grows within my hand, a thing of strength,<br>A wonder to the Earth, whose old worn heart<br>Has long been joyless. Listen, while I speak,<br>Ye autumn woods. Ye ancient forest trees,<br>Lend me your ears. Thou little brook, be still<br>Till I have spoken, for I have a tale<br>For the morning's ear; and O! thou Nature's voice,<br>Be silent this one day and hear of joy<br>Newer than thine. You friends whom I have loved,<br>Listen, and stop me not with word or sign<br>Till I have poured my heart into your ears,<br>For if you spoke to me I should not hear,<br>And if you wept with me I should not see,<br>And if you mocked me I should not suspect,<br>Being this day the fool of happiness.<br>And all my blood is full of dancing motes;<br>And in my brain are chords of silver tone<br>Divinely struck to statelier harmonies<br>Than Heaven's own harping; and my eyes have tears<br>Which brim and quiver, but they will not fall,<br>For they are far too happy in my eyes.<br>Tears,--what of tears? which are but new delights,<br>New visions of new joys which none have seen,<br>And which are mine. Such only Solomon<br>Saw when he sat upon his ivory throne,<br>And lo! the pageantry of Sheba came,<br>Bearing its queen upon a sandal bed,<br>And laid her at his feet. These even I,<br>Who live and speak with you, have seen to--night.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And mark, how simply wonders come about<br>And take our hearts by storm, as in the night<br>Fate creeps upon a city. I had fled<br>Four months ago, when July nights were young,<br>Out to the wilderness to be alone.<br>Four months, four summer months among the hills,<br>So far from my old life I had forgot<br>All to my name. None knew me but my dog,<br>And he was secret. Thus, in pedlar's guise,<br>With pack and staff, and bartering such small wares<br>Of pills and ointments as the vulgar love,<br>And gathering simples, I had worked my way<br>Through every valley of the Candriote hills.<br>Four summer months of silence, and the balm<br>Of the green pastures where the cattle go<br>In the long droughts; among the giant rocks<br>Which are the walls of heaven, the ibex' home;<br>Among the dells where the green lizards lurk,<br>Waiting for sunrise. Oh, I knew them all,<br>The speckled birds which live among the stones.<br>I made new friendship with each grass and weed,<br>Each moss and lichen. Every flower became<br>Like a familiar face, and as I passed<br>The harebell nodded to me from her stem,<br>The gentian opened wide her sapphire eyes,<br>And the Alp--roses blushed. But, most of all,<br>The butterflies were mine. I marked each one,<br>As he came sailing down upon the wind,<br>A furlong off. The Argus looked at me<br>Out of his hundred eyes and did not move.<br>I could have counted you the purple spots<br>On great Apollo's wings. The shepherds came,<br>And brought their sick, that I might heal their woes<br>With my poor knowledge, and I learned in turn<br>Much weather--wisdom, and some wisdom too<br>Fresh from their human hearts 'twas wealth to know.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And thus I lived and dreamed and drank the wind<br>Which snows had cooled; and often I have stood<br>On some tall pinnacle above the plain,<br>And watched the clouds come flying on the breeze<br>To tear their fleeces on the jagged rocks,<br>Until they caught and folded me about<br>In their damp garments; and, when these were gone,<br>And the sun broke through the rain, my very soul<br>Laughed with the sun, washed white as a christened child,<br>And all was clean forgotten but its joy.<br>Such life was mine the short sweet summer through;<br>But when the August days were fled away<br>And nights grew chill, I came to Bannastal<br>On the Uranian sea, and there my fate<br>Was waiting for me, though I knew it not.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My fate, and what a fate! Oh, Lytton, now<br>I see my life transfigured like a seer's.<br>My eyes are open. I read plain the meaning<br>Of all that I beheld and heard and knew<br>Through the past summer, as in words of fire:<br>The sadness of my soul, my pilgrimage<br>Among the hills, each flower upon my way,<br>The sun, the stars, the passionate face of heaven,<br>The virtue of the earth, which expectation<br>Peopled for me with signs and prophecies,<br>All, all foretold the coming of a god.<br>Nay more, each hope, each fancy, each desire,<br>Each separate thought which I have thought, each sorrow<br>Laid on my heart, each unseen accident<br>Met in my road, each word, each look, each choice,<br>Each idle dream that I have dreamt in folly,<br>From my first hour till now, I do acknowledge<br>As the great forecast of a glorious fate,<br>Of hope made ecstasy and life made love.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And thus it is I learned the very truth<br>That God is on this earth. For twenty days<br>Are come and gone, and twenty nights have been<br>More sunny than those days, since these things were;<br>And I still ride upon the back of joy,<br>Which bears me bravely. Still the flowers blow.<br>St. Martin's summer has brought back the birds<br>To sing in these old gardens as in June.<br>--Listen. I hear one like the nightingale,<br>But sweeter and less sad, and thus she sings:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh fly not, Pleasure, pleasant--hearted Pleasure.<br>Fold me thy wings, I prithee, yet and stay.<br>For my heart no measure<br>Knows nor other treasure<br>To buy a garland for my love to--day.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And thou too, Sorrow, tender--hearted Sorrow.<br>Thou grey--eyed mourner, fly not yet away.<br>For I fain would borrow<br>Thy sad weeds to--morrow<br>To make a mourning for love's yesterday.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The voice of Pity, Time's divine dear Pity,<br>Moved me to tears. I dared not say them nay,<br>But went forth from the city<br>Making thus my ditty<br>Of fair love lost for ever and a day.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Wilfrid+Scawen+Blunt">Wilfrid Scawen Blunt</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=536347" data-title="A Rhapsody de Wilfrid Scawen Blunt" data-description="There is a God most surely in the heavens,
Who smileth always, though His face be hid.
And young Joy cometh as His messenger
Upon the Earth, like to a rushing wind,
Scattering the dead leaves of our discontent
Ere yet we see him. Then he setteth u..."></div>
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