Rapt in rare dreams one morn I lay
Upon the threshold of the day;
My body, in soft languid sleep,
Releas'd my soul, whose wings might sweep
Through Fancy's bright realm, far and wide.
At length before mine eyes did glide
A vision of a stately Rose.
Within its ruby-vesture close
A dew-drop lay: e'er long it broke.
At once a sound of music woke,
And shudder'd thro' the petals red;
And, wafted wide, afar it sped.
Then in my ear the words below
Were whispered, as I wakened slow.
O Rose, sweet Rose!
Is thine, self-pois'd in still content:
But Love thy stillness doth resent.
Within the fragrant silence of thy breast
He sends a drop of aqueous light,
Red-blushing, like thy bosom ruby-drest.
And, yielding to a fond delight,
It melteth, for thy love, away.
E'en as its crystal curves evaporate
Harmonious sounds reverberate,
And shiver in their echo-play
Amidst thy waxen petal-walls
Concav'd, to bear the incense-freight
Of thy sweet breath. Soft echo calls
To echo, as they die away,
Slow swooning in sweet ecstacy;
And all thy round, rose-bosom sways
Harmonious, — saith my fantasy.
Within life's seeming silence dwell
Soft, mystic sounds, whose whisp'rings swell
Upon the soul's attentive ear,
Out-breathing music, far and near.
The Self is hidden in all beings and does not shine forth, but it is seen by subtle seers through their sharp and subtle intellect. — Katha-Upanishad.
1. See PATH for August '87. (return to text)
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