He hath uttered too surely his wrath not obscurely, nor wrapt as in mists of his breath, [_Str._ The master that lightens not hearts he enlightens, but gives them foreknowledge of death. 350 As a bolt from the cloud hath he sent it aloud and proclaimed it afar, From the darkness and height of the horror of night hath he shown us a star. Star may I name it and err not, or flame shall I say, Born of the womb that was born for the tomb of the day? O Night, whom other but thee for mother, and Death for the father, Night, [_Ant._ Shall we dream to discover, save thee and thy lover, to bring such a sorrow to sight? From the slumberless bed for thy bedfellow spread and his bride under earth Hast thou brought forth a wild and insatiable child, an unbearable birth. Fierce are the fangs of his wrath, and the pangs that they give; None is there, none that may bear them, not one that would live. 360
Forth of the fine-spun folds of veils that hide My virgin chamber toward the full-faced sun I set my foot not moved of mine own will, Unmaidenlike, nor with unprompted speed Turn eyes too broad or doglike unabashed On reverend heads of men and thence on thine, Mother, now covered from the light and bowed As hers who mourns her brethren; but what grief Bends thy blind head thus earthward, holds thus mute, I know not till thy will be to lift up 370 Toward mine thy sorrow-muffled eyes and speak; And till thy will be would I know this not.
Old men and childless, or if sons ye have seen And daughters, elder-born were these than mine, Look on this child, how young of years, how sweet, How scant of time and green of age her life Puts forth its flower of girlhood; and her gait How virginal, how soft her speech, her eyes How seemly smiling; wise should all ye be, All honourable and kindly men of age; 380 Now give me counsel and one word to say That I may bear to speak, and hold my peace Henceforth for all time even as all ye now. Dumb are ye all, bowed eyes and tongueless mouths, Unprofitable; if this were wind that speaks, As much its breath might move you. Thou then, child, Set thy sweet eyes on mine; look through them well; Take note of all the writing of my face As of a tablet or a tomb inscribed That bears me record; lifeless now, my life 390 Thereon that was think written; brief to read, Yet shall the scripture sear thine eyes as fire And leave them dark as dead men's. Nay, dear child, Thou hast no skill, my maiden, and no sense To take such knowledge; sweet is all thy lore, And all this bitter; yet I charge thee learn And love and lay this up within thine heart, Even this my word; less ill it were to die Than live and look upon thy mother dead, Thy mother-land that bare thee; no man slain 400 But him who hath seen it shall men count unblest, None blest as him who hath died and seen it not.