Now the fire is lighted On the chimney stone, Day goes down the valley, I am left alone.
Now the misty purple Floods the darkened vale, And the stars come out On the twilight trail.
The mountain river murmurs In his rocky bed, And the stealthy shadows Fill the house with dread.
Then I hear your laughter At the open door,-- Brightly burns the fire, I need fear no more.
At the end of the road through the wood I see the great moon rise. The fields are flooded with shine, And my soul with surmise.
What if that mystic orb With her shadowy beams, Should be the revealer at last Of my darkest dreams!
What if this tender fire In my heart's deep hold Should be wiser than all the lore Of the sages of old!
Mortal, mortal, have you seen In the scented summer night, Great Astarte, clad in green With a veil of mystic light, Passing on her silent way, Pale and lovelier than day?
Mortal, mortal, have you heard, On an odorous summer eve, Rumors of an unknown word Bidding sorrow not to grieve,-- Echoes of a silver voice Bidding every heart rejoice?
Mortal, when the slim new moon Hangs above the western hill, When the year comes round to June And the leafy world is still, Then, enraptured, you shall hear Secrets for a poet's ear.
Mortal, mortal, come with me, When the moon is rising large, Through the wood or from the sea, Or by some lone river marge. There, entranced, you shall behold Beauty's self, that grows not old.
In the world's far edges Faint and blue, Where the rocky ledges Stand in view,
Fades the rosy, tender Evening light; Then in starry splendor Comes the night.
So a stormy lifetime Comes to close, Spirit's mortal strifetime Finds repose.
Faith and toil and vision Crowned at last, Failure and derision Overpast,--
All the daylight splendor Far above, Calm and sure and tender Comes thy love.
When all the stars are sown Across the night-blue space, With the immense unknown, In silence face to face.
We stand in speechless awe While Beauty marches by, And wonder at the Law Which wears such majesty.
How small a thing is man In all that world-sown vast, That he should hope or plan Or dream his dream could last!
O doubter of the light, Confused by fear and wrong, Lean on the heart of night And let love make thee strong!