Renascence

All I could see from where I stood         Was three long mountains and a wood;         I turned and looked another way,         And saw three islands in a bay.         So with my eyes I traced the line         Of the horizon, thin and fine,         Straight around till I was come         Back to where I'd started from;         And all I saw from where I stood         Was three long mountains and a wood.         Over these things I could not see;         These were the things that bounded me;         And I could touch them with my hand,         Almost, I thought, from where I stand.         And all at once things seemed so small         My breath came short, and scarce at all.         But, sure, the sky is big, I said;         Miles and miles above my head;         So here upon my back I'll lie         And look my fill into the sky.         And so I looked, and, after all,         The sky was not so very tall.         The sky, I said, must somewhere stop,         And--sure enough!--I see the top!         The sky, I thought, is not so grand;         I 'most could touch it with my hand!         And reaching up my hand to try,         I screamed to feel it touch the sky.         I screamed, and--lo!--Infinity         Came down and settled over me;         Forced back my scream into my chest,         Bent back my arm upon my breast,         And, pressing of the Undefined         The definition on my mind,         Held up before my eyes a glass         Through which my shrinking sight did pass         Until it seemed I must behold         Immensity made manifold;         Whispered to me a word whose sound         Deafened the air for worlds around,         And brought unmuffled to my ears         The gossiping of friendly spheres,         The creaking of the tented sky,         The ticking of Eternity.         I saw and heard, and knew at last         The How and Why of all things, past,         And present, and forevermore.         The Universe, cleft to the core,         Lay open to my probing sense         That, sick'ning, I would fain pluck thence         But could not,--nay! But needs must suck         At the great wound, and could not pluck         My lips away till I had drawn         All venom out.--Ah, fearful pawn!         For my omniscience paid I toll         In infinite remorse of soul.         All sin was of my sinning, all         Atoning mine, and mine the gall         Of all regret. Mine was the weight         Of every brooded wrong, the hate         That stood behind each envious thrust,         Mine every greed, mine every lust.         And all the while for every grief,         Each suffering, I craved relief         With individual desire,--         Craved all in vain!    And felt fierce fire         About a thousand people crawl;         Perished with each,--then mourned for all!         A man was starving in Capri;         He moved his eyes and looked at me;         I felt his gaze, I heard his moan,         And knew his hunger as my own.         I saw at sea a great fog bank         Between two ships that struck and sank;         A thousand screams the heavens smote;         And every scream tore through my throat.         No hurt I did not feel, no death         That was not mine; mine each last breath         That, crying, met an answering cry         From the compassion that was I.         All suffering mine, and mine its rod;         Mine, pity like the pity of God.         Ah, awful weight!    Infinity         Pressed down upon the finite Me!         My anguished spirit, like a bird,         Beating against my lips I heard;         Yet lay the weight so close about         There was no room for it without.         And so beneath the weight lay I         And suffered death, but could not die.         Long had I lain thus, craving death,         When quietly the earth beneath         Gave way, and inch by inch, so great         At last had grown the crushing weight,         Into the earth I sank till I         Full six feet under ground did lie,         And sank no more,--there is no weight         Can follow here, however great.         From off my breast I felt it roll,         And as it went my tortured soul         Burst forth and fled in such a gust         That all about me swirled the dust.         Deep in the earth I rested now;         Cool is its hand upon the brow         And soft its breast beneath the head         Of one who is so gladly dead.         And all at once, and over all         The pitying rain began to fall;         I lay and heard each pattering hoof         Upon my lowly, thatched roof,         And seemed to love the sound far more         Than ever I had done before.         For rain it hath a friendly sound         To one who's six feet underground;         And scarce the friendly voice or face:         A grave is such a quiet place.         The rain, I said, is kind to come         And speak to me in my new home.         I would I were alive again         To kiss the fingers of the rain,         To drink into my eyes the shine         Of every slanting silver line,         To catch the freshened, fragrant breeze         From drenched and dripping apple-trees.         For soon the shower will be done,         And then the broad face of the sun         Will laugh above the rain-soaked earth         Until the world with answering mirth         Shakes joyously, and each round drop         Rolls, twinkling, from its grass-blade top.         How can I bear it; buried here,         While overhead the sky grows clear         And blue again after the storm?         O, multi-colored, multiform,         Beloved beauty over me,         That I shall never, never see         Again!    Spring-silver, autumn-gold,         That I shall never more behold!         Sleeping your myriad magics through,         Close-sepulchred away from you!         O God, I cried, give me new birth,         And put me back upon the earth!         Upset each cloud's gigantic gourd         And let the heavy rain, down-poured         In one big torrent, set me free,         Washing my grave away from me!         I ceased; and through the breathless hush         That answered me, the far-off rush         Of herald wings came whispering         Like music down the vibrant string         Of my ascending prayer, and--crash!         Before the wild wind's whistling lash         The startled storm-clouds reared on high         And plunged in terror down the sky,         And the big rain in one black wave         Fell from the sky and struck my grave.         I know not how such things can be;         I only know there came to me         A fragrance such as never clings         To aught save happy living things;         A sound as of some joyous elf         Singing sweet songs to please himself,         And, through and over everything,         A sense of glad awakening.         The grass, a-tiptoe at my ear,         Whispering to me I could hear;         I felt the rain's cool finger-tips         Brushed tenderly across my lips,         Laid gently on my sealed sight,         And all at once the heavy night         Fell from my eyes and I could see,--         A drenched and dripping apple-tree,         A last long line of silver rain,         A sky grown clear and blue again.         And as I looked a quickening gust         Of wind blew up to me and thrust         Into my face a miracle         Of orchard-breath, and with the smell,--         I know not how such things can be!--         I breathed my soul back into me.         Ah!    Up then from the ground sprang I         And hailed the earth with such a cry         As is not heard save from a man         Who has been dead, and lives again.         About the trees my arms I wound;         Like one gone mad I hugged the ground;         I raised my quivering arms on high;         I laughed and laughed into the sky,         Till at my throat a strangling sob         Caught fiercely, and a great heart-throb         Sent instant tears into my eyes;         O God, I cried, no dark disguise         Can e'er hereafter hide from me         Thy radiant identity!         Thou canst not move across the grass         But my quick eyes will see Thee pass,         Nor speak, however silently,         But my hushed voice will answer Thee.         I know the path that tells Thy way         Through the cool eve of every day;         God, I can push the grass apart         And lay my finger on Thy heart!         The world stands out on either side         No wider than the heart is wide;         Above the world is stretched the sky,--         No higher than the soul is high.         The heart can push the sea and land         Farther away on either hand;         The soul can split the sky in two,         And let the face of God shine through.         But East and West will pinch the heart         That can not keep them pushed apart;         And he whose soul is flat--the sky         Will cave in on him by and by.