Treasure Island

Edward Dowden

(3 May 1843 - 4 April 1913 / Co. Cork / Ireland)

By the Window


STILL deep into the West I gazed; the light
Clear, spiritual, tranquil as a bird
Wide-winged that soars on the smooth gale and sleeps,
Was it from sun far-set or moon unrisen?
Whether from moon, or sun, or angel’s face
It held my heart from motion, stayed my blood,
Betrayed each rising thought to quiet death
Along the blind charm’d way to nothingness,
Lull’d the last nerve that ached. It was a sky
Made for a man to waste his will upon,
To be received as wiser than all toil,
And much more fair. And what was strife of men?
And what was time?

Then came a certain thing.
Are intimations for the elected soul
Dubious, obscure, of unauthentic power
Since ghostly to the intellectual eye,
Shapeless to thinking? Nay, but are not we
Servile to words and an usurping brain,
Infidels of our own high mysteries,
Until the senses thicken and lose the world,
Until the imprisoned soul forgets to see,
And spreads blind fingers forth to reach the day,
Which once drank light, and fed on angels’ food?

It happened swiftly, came and straight was gone.

One standing on some aery balcony
And looking down upon a swarming crowd
Sees one man beckon to him with finger-tip
While eyes meet eyes; he turns and looks again—
The man is lost, and the crowd sways and swarms.
Shall such an one say, ‘Thus ’tis proved a dream,
And no hand beckoned, no eyes met my own?’
Neither can I say this. There was a hint,
A thrill, a summons faint yet absolute,
Which ran across the West; the sky was touch’d,
And failed not to respond. Does a hand pass
Lightly across your hair? you feel it pass
Not half so heavy as a cobweb’s weight,
Although you never stir; so felt the sky
Not unaware of the Presence, so my soul
Scarce less aware. And if I cannot say
The meaning and monition, words are weak
Which will not paint the small wing of a moth,
Nor bear a subtile odour to the brain,
And much less serve the soul in her large needs.
I cannot tell the meaning, but a change
Was wrought in me; it was not the one man
Who came to the luminous window to gaze forth,
And who moved back into the darkened room
With awe upon his heart and tender hope;
From some deep well of life tears rose; the throng
Of dusty cares, hopes, pleasures, prides fell off,
And from a sacred solitude I gazed
Deep, deep into the liquid eyes of Life.

Submitted: Thursday, January 01, 2004

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

What do you think this poem is about?



Read poems about / on: solitude, moon, sky, angel, food, change, sun, power, rose, light, hair, dream, lost, hope, death, running, sleep

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (By the Window by Edward Dowden )

Enter the verification code :

There is no comment submitted by members..

PoemHunter.com Updates

New Poems

  1. Invocation of Rain, Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
  2. Harness Racing (Poem), Doris Beaulieu
  3. Twinkle twinkle little star - 4, ramesh rai
  4. Light vs Smoke, Adele Bercich
  5. Just the beginning of that pretty Fall ف.., MOHAMMAD SKATI
  6. The Fulani and His Cattle, Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
  7. LOVE, DRASHI SHAH
  8. LITTLE DREAM, DRASHI SHAH
  9. Together Alone, S. I. Rednow
  10. HOLDING HANDS.., DRASHI SHAH

Poem of the Day

poet Sir Walter Raleigh

EVEN such is Time, that takes in trust
Our youth, our joys, our all we have,
And pays us but with earth and dust;
   Who in the dark and silent grave,
...... Read complete »

   

Member Poem

Trending Poems

  1. 04 Tongues Made Of Glass, Shaun Shane
  2. Daffodils, William Wordsworth
  3. If, Rudyard Kipling
  4. The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
  5. Phenomenal Woman, Maya Angelou
  6. No Man Is An Island, John Donne
  7. Death is Nothing at All, Henry Scott Holland
  8. Invictus, William Ernest Henley
  9. If You Forget Me, Pablo Neruda
  10. Still I Rise, Maya Angelou

Trending Poets

[Hata Bildir]