St. John’s Eve
The veil is thin between
The seen and the unseen—
Thinner to-night than the transparent air;
All heaven and earth are still,
Save when from some far hill
Floateth the nightbird’s unavailing prayer;
Up from the mountain bars
Climb the slow, patient stars,
Only to faint in moonlight white and rare!
Ere earth had grown too wise
To commerce with the skies,
On this midsummer night the men of old
Believed the dead drew near,
Believed that they could hear
Voices long silent speaking from the mould,
Believed whoever slept
Unearthly vigil kept
Where his own death-knell should at last be tolled.
In solemn midnight marches
Beneath dark forest arches
They fancied that their hungry souls found God;
His angels clad in light
Stole softly through the night,
Leaving no impress on the yielding sod,
And bore to mortal ears
Tidings from other spheres,
The undiscovered way no man hath trod.
Ah! what if it were true?
Then would I call ye who
Have one by one beyond my vision flown;
I would set wide the door
Ye enter now no more
Crying, “Come in from out the void unknown!
Come as ye came of old
Laden with love untold”—
Hark! was that nothing but the night wind’s moan?