Transition [pp. 381]

A TRANSITION.
one was the driver of the Lucky-dog
stage. But, though he sat on that box
for two years longer, and scrutinized every dark- eyed, sweet- voiced lady- passenger who rode in his coach during that
time, often with an intense longing for a
sight of the face he craved - it never
came. Out of the heaven of his life that
star had vanished forever, and nothing
was left him but a soiled photograph,
and a tear - stained letter, worn with frequent folding and unfolding.
TRANSITION.
I dropped a golden bowl-the gift of my gracious Lord!My grasp relaxed its hold on the links of a silver cord.
I sank in a milk-white swoon- a torpid, inflexible rest,
A pulseless heart, a nerveless palm, a cold alabaster breast.
Rose-leaves drifted their snow over my closed eyes,
In their blue depths below binding the tears and sighs.
A faint, receding shore-the sob of an ebbing breathAnd I floated out on an awful tide - to the still, white realm of death.
Oh, pale moon, looking down! oh, gold-headed stars! that slide
Your points of flame through rings of blue that loop on the inner side:
Did the hush of ineffable calm-the sweep of the wings of peace -
Bear up to your heights evangel and psalm, and triumph of glad release?
Into the limitless space! Free from earth's prison-bars!
Bathed in the rayless light that is born not of moon or stars.
Oh, music of angel harps! oh, sheen of the golden floor!
Did I mirror my face in the globes of pearl that were set in the open door?
Oh, love, never voiced on earth! oh, ripeness and fill of bliss!
I only touched the eternal shore-then drifted again to this.
38I
I872.]