from Heart of Love

My heart had wandered far from home;
it was the starlet of the week.
Eternity sat at the door,
and clothed in solitude and prayer
I thought I saw her passing there;
her plumage shackled to the floor,
her eyes were - as the heavens - bleak,
and hid in mists as God's own throne.
Remembrance pierced her as a briar
when her lamps seized on Salem's views;
assaulted mine with an acquainted fire,
as sudden as the muse.

I murmuring began to speak
though as in verse; her jewelled face
was set with silence, as a rose,
and awful more than any prose
communion faltered, save “God knows.”
“Whose silent wars are not eclipsed by stars?”
I whispered, but her spirit knew
too well, ah! all to well the kiss of heav'n.

Did heav'n give ears, to silent fall?
Did Lethe plague those silvern tents
in which was scribed election's call?
Is heaven not answerable?
No, Providence's darkness bids
the storied anguish of those lids!
Her vision flowered as the sun of May
whose azure fountain parts the night;
I was to speak, but still her sight
roved vainly. From her vagrant hands
at last I knew her darkling way,
and said, “come, child, ‘tis the Lord's day.”

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