A Channel Passage and Other Poems Taken from The Collected Poetical Works of Algernon Charles Swinburne—Vol VI — Context and Discussion

Whose thought has fathomed and measured The darkness of life and of death, The secret within them treasured, The spirit that is not breath? Whose vision has yet beholden The splendour of death and of life? Though sunset as dawn be golden, Is the word of them peace, not strife? Deep silence answers: the glory We dream of may be but a dream, And the sun of the soul wax hoary As ashes that show not a gleam. But well shall it be with us ever Who drive through the darkness here, If the soul that we live by never, For aught that a lie saith, fear.

THE PROMISE OF THE HAWTHORN

Spring sleeps and stirs and trembles with desire Pure as a babe's that nestles toward the breast. The world, as yet an all unstricken lyre, With all its chords alive and all at rest, Feels not the sun's hand yet, but feels his breath And yearns for love made perfect. Man and bird, Thrilled through with hope of life that casts out death, Wait with a rapturous patience till his word Speak heaven, and flower by flower and tree by tree Give back the silent strenuous utterance. Earth, Alive awhile and joyful as the sea, Laughs not aloud in joy too deep for mirth, Presageful of perfection of delight, Till all the unborn green buds be born in white.

Dawn is alive in the world, and the darkness of heaven and of earth Subsides in the light of a smile more sweet than the loud noon's mirth, Spring lives as a babe lives, glad and divine as the sun, and unsure If aught so divine and so glad may be worshipped and loved and endure. A soft green glory suffuses the love-lit earth with delight, And the face of the noon is fair as the face of the star-clothed night. Earth knows not and doubts not at heart of the glories again to be: Sleep doubts not and dreams not how sweet shall the waking beyond her be. A whole white world of revival awaits May's whisper awhile, Abides and exults in the bud as a soft hushed laugh in a smile. As a maid's mouth laughing with love and subdued for the love's sake, May Shines and withholds for a little the word she revives to say.

When the clouds and the winds and the sunbeams are warring and strengthening with joy that they live, Spring, from reluctance enkindled to rapture, from slumber to strife, Stirs, and repents, and is winter, and weeps, and awakes as the frosts forgive, And the dark chill death of the woodland is troubled, and dies into life. And the honey of heaven, of the hives whence night feeds full on the springtide's breath, Fills fuller the lips of the lustrous air with delight in the dawn: Each blossom enkindling with love that is life and subsides with a smile into death Arises and lightens and sets as a star from her sphere withdrawn. Not sleep, in the rapture of radiant dreams, when sundawn smiles on the night, Shows earth so sweet with a splendour and fragrance of life that is love: Each blade of the glad live grass, each bud that receives or rejects the light, Salutes and responds to the marvel of Maytime around and above.

Joy gives thanks for the sight and the savour of heaven, and is humbled With awe that exults in thanksgiving: the towers of the flowers of the trees Shine sweeter than snows that the hand of the season has melted and crumbled, And fair as the foam that is lesser of life than the loveliest of these. But the sense of a life more lustrous with joy and enkindled of glory Than man's was ever or may be, and briefer than joys most brief, Bids man's heart bend and adore, be the man's head golden or hoary, As it leapt but a breath's time since and saluted the flower and the leaf. The rapture that springs into love at the sight of the world's exultation Takes not a sense of rebuke from the sense of triumphant awe: But the spirit that quickens the body fulfils it with mute adoration, And the knees would fain bow down as the eyes that rejoiced and saw.

Fair and sublime as the face of the dawn is the splendour of May, But the sky's and the sea's joy fades not as earth's pride passes away. Yet hardly the sun's first lightning or laughter of love on the sea So humbles the heart into worship that knows not or doubts if it be As the first full glory beholden again of the life new-born That hails and applauds with inaudible music the season of morn. A day's length since, and it was not: a night's length more, and the sun Salutes and enkindles a world of delight as a strange world won. A new life answers and thrills to the kiss of the young strong year, And the glory we see is as music we hear not, and dream that we hear. From blossom to blossom the live tune kindles, from tree to tree, And we know not indeed if we hear not the song of the life we see.

For the first blithe day that beholds it and worships and cherishes cannot but sing With a louder and lustier delight in the sun and the sunlit earth Than the joy of the days that beheld but the soft green dawn of the slow faint spring Glad and afraid to be glad, and subdued in a shamefast mirth. When the first bright knoll of the woodland world laughs out into fragrant light, The year's heart changes and quickens with sense of delight in desire, And the kindling desire is one with thanksgiving for utter fruition of sight, For sight and for sense of a world that the sun finds meet for his lyre. Music made of the morning that smites from the chords of the mute world song Trembles and quickens and lightens, unfelt, unbeholden, unheard, From blossom on blossom that climbs and exults in the strength of the sun grown strong, And answers the word of the wind of the spring with the sun's own word.

Hard on the skirt of the deep soft copses that spring refashions, Triumphs and towers to the height of the crown of a wildwood tree One royal hawthorn, sublime and serene as the joy that impassions Awe that exults in thanksgiving for sight of the grace we see, The grace that is given of a god that abides for a season, mysterious And merciful, fervent and fugitive, seen and unknown and adored: His presence is felt in the light and the fragrance, elate and imperious, His laugh and his breath in the blossom are love's, the beloved soul's lord. For surely the soul if it loves is beloved of the god as a lover Whose love is not all unaccepted, a worship not utterly vain: So full, so deep is the joy that revives for the soul to recover Yearly, beholden of hope and of memory in sunshine and rain.

Wonder and love stand silent, stricken at heart and stilled. But yet is the cup of delight and of worship unpledged and unfilled. A handsbreadth hence leaps up, laughs out as an angel crowned, A strong full fountain of flowers overflowing above and around. The boughs and the blossoms in triumph salute with adoring mirth The womb that bare them, the glad green mother, the sunbright earth. Downward sweeping, as song subsides into silence, none May hear what sound is the word's they speak to the brooding sun. None that hearken may hear: man may but pass and adore, And humble his heart in thanksgiving for joy that is now no more. And sudden, afront and ahead of him, joy is alive and aflame On the shrine whose incense is given of the godhead, again the same.

Pale and pure as a maiden secluded in secret and cherished with fear, One sweet glad hawthorn smiles as it shrinks under shelter, screened By two strong brethren whose bounteous blossom outsoars it, year after year, While earth still cleaves to the live spring's breast as a babe unweaned. Never was amaranth fairer in fields where heroes of old found rest, Never was asphodel sweeter: but here they endure not long, Though ever the sight that salutes them again and adores them awhile is blest, And the heart is a hymn, and the sense is a soul, and the soul is a song. Alone on a dyke's trenched edge, and afar from the blossoming wildwood's verge, Laughs and lightens a sister, triumphal in love-lit pride; Clothed round with the sun, and inviolate: her blossoms exult as the springtide surge, When the wind and the dawn enkindle the snows of the shoreward tide.

Hardly the worship of old that rejoiced as it knelt in the vision Shown of the God new-born whose breath is the spirit of spring Hailed ever with love more strong and defiant of death's derision A joy more perfect than here we mourn for as May takes wing. Time gives it and takes it again and restores it: the glory, the wonder, The triumph of lustrous blossom that makes of the steep sweet bank One visible marvel of music inaudible, over and under, Attuned as in heaven, pass hence and return for the sun to thank. The stars and the sun give thanks for the glory bestowed and beholden, For the gladness they give and rejoice in, the night and the dawn and the day: But nought they behold when the world is aflower and the season is golden Makes answer as meet and as sweet as the flower that itself is May.

THE PASSING OF THE HAWTHORN

The coming of the hawthorn brings on earth Heaven: all the spring speaks out in one sweet word, And heaven grows gladder, knowing that earth has heard. Ere half the flowers are jubilant in birth, The splendour of the laughter of their mirth Dazzles delight with wonder: man and bird Rejoice and worship, stilled at heart and stirred With rapture girt about with awe for girth.

The passing of the hawthorn takes away Heaven: all the spring falls dumb, and all the soul Sinks down in man for sorrow. Night and day Forego the joy that made them one and whole. The change that falls on every starry spray Bids, flower by flower, the knell of springtime toll.

Love, whose light thrills heaven and earth, Smiles and weeps upon thy birth, Child, whose mother's love-lit eyes Watch thee but from Paradise. Sweetest sight that earth can give, Sweetest light of eyes that live, Ours must needs, for hope withdrawn, Hail with tears thy soft spring dawn. Light of hope whose star hath set, Light of love whose sun lives yet, Holier, happier, heavenlier love Breathes about thee, burns above, Surely, sweet, than ours can be, Shed from eyes we may not see, Though thine own may see them shine Night and day, perchance, on thine. Sun and moon that lighten earth Seem not fit to bless thy birth: Scarce the very stars we know Here seem bright enough to show Whence in unimagined skies Glows the vigil of such eyes. Theirs whose heart is as a sea Swoln with sorrowing love of thee Fain would share with thine the sight Seen alone of babes aright, Watched of eyes more sweet than flowers Sleeping or awake: but ours Can but deem or dream or guess Thee not wholly motherless. Might they see or might they know What nor faith nor hope may show, We whose hearts yearn toward thee now Then were blest and wise as thou. Had we half thy knowledge,--had Love such wisdom,--grief were glad, Surely, lit by grace of thee; Life were sweet as death may be. Now the law that lies on men Bids us mourn our dead: but then Heaven and life and earth and death, Quickened as by God's own breath, All were turned from sorrow and strife: Earth and death were heaven and life. All too far are then and now Sundered: none may be as thou. Yet this grace is ours--a sign Of that goodlier grace of thine, Sweet, and thine alone--to see Heaven, and heaven's own love, in thee. Bless them, then, whose eyes caress Thee, as only thou canst bless. Comfort, faith, assurance, love, Shine around us, brood above, Fear grows hope, and hope grows wise, Thrilled and lit by children's eyes. Yet in ours the tears unshed, Child, for hope that death leaves dead, Needs must burn and tremble; thou Knowest not, seest not, why nor how, More than we know whence or why Comes on babes that laugh and lie Half asleep, in sweet-lipped scorn, Light of smiles outlightening morn, Whence enkindled as is earth By the dawn's less radiant birth All the body soft and sweet Smiles on us from face to feet When the rose-red hands would fain Reach the rose-red feet in vain. Eyes and hands that worship thee Watch and tend, adore and see All these heavenly sights, and give Thanks to see and love and live. Yet, of all that hold thee dear, Sweet, the dearest smiles not here. Thine alone is now the grace, Haply, still to see her face; Thine, thine only now the sight Whence we dream thine own takes light. Yet, though faith and hope live blind, Yet they live in heart and mind Strong and keen as truth may be: Yet, though blind as grief were we Inly for a weeping-while, Sorrow's self before thy smile Smiles and softens, knowing that yet, Far from us though heaven be set, Love, bowed down for thee to bless, Dares not call thee motherless.

THE ALTAR OF RIGHTEOUSNESS

+es to pan de soi legô,+ +bômon aidesai dikas;+ +mêde nin+ +kerdos idôn atheô podi lax atisês;+ +poina gar epestai.+ +kyrion menei telos.+

+para to phôs idein.+

THE ALTAR OF RIGHTEOUSNESS

Light and night, whose clouds and glories change and mingle and divide, Veil the truth whereof they witness, show the truth of things they hide. Through the darkness and the splendour of the centuries, loud or dumb, Shines and wanes and shines the spirit, lit with love of life to come. Man, the soul made flesh, that knows not death from life, and fain would know, Sees the face of time change colour as its tides recoil and flow. All his hope and fear and faith and doubt, if aught at all they be, Live the life of clouds and sunbeams, born of heaven or earth or sea. All are buoyed and blown and brightened by their hour's evasive breath: All subside and quail and darken when their hour is done to death. Yet, ere faith, a wandering water, froze and curdled into creeds, Earth, elate as heaven, adored the light that quickens dreams to deeds.

Invisible: eye hath not seen it, and ear hath not heard as the spirit hath heard From the shrine that is lit not of sunlight or starlight the sound of a limitless word. And visible: none that hath eyes to behold what the spirit must perish or see Can choose but behold it and worship: a shrine that if light were as darkness would be. Of cloud and of change is the form of the fashion that man may behold of it wrought: Of iron and truth is the mystic mid altar, where worship is none but of thought. No prayer may go up to it, climbing as incense of gladness or sorrow may climb: No rapture of music may ruffle the silence that guards it, and hears not of time. As the winds of the wild blind ages alternate in passion of light and of cloud, So changes the shape of the veil that enshrouds it with darkness and light for a shroud. And the winds and the clouds and the suns fall silent, and fade out of hearing or sight, And the shrine stands fast and is changed not, whose likeness was changed as a cloud in the night.

All the storms of time, and wrath of many winds, may carve no trace On the viewless altar, though the veil bear many a name and face: Many a live God's likeness woven, many a scripture dark with awe, Bids the veil seem verier iron than the word of life's own law. Till the might of change hath rent it with a rushing wind in twain, Stone or steel it seems, whereon the wrath of chance is wreaked in vain: Stone or steel, and all behind it or beyond its lifted sign Cloud and vapour, no subsistence of a change-unstricken shrine. God by god flits past in thunder, till his glories turn to shades: God to god bears wondering witness how his gospel flames and fades. More was each of these, while yet they were, than man their servant seemed: Dead are all of these, and man survives who made them while he dreamed.

Yet haply or surely, if vision were surer than theirs who rejoiced that they saw, Man might not but see, through the darkness of godhead, the light that is surety and law. On the stone that the close-drawn cloud which veils it awhile makes cloudlike stands The word of the truth everlasting, unspoken of tongues and unwritten of hands. By the sunbeams and storms of the centuries engraven, and approved of the soul as it reads, It endures as a token dividing the light from the darkness of dreams and of deeds. The faces of gods on the face of it carven, or gleaming behind and above, Star-glorified Uranus, thunderous Jehovah, for terror or worship or love, Change, wither, and brighten as flowers that the wind of eternity sheds upon time, All radiant and transient and awful and mortal, and leave it unmarred and sublime. As the tides that return and recede are the fears and the hopes of the centuries that roll, Requenched and rekindled: but strong as the sun is the sense of it shrined in the soul.

In the days when time was not, in the time when days were none, Ere sorrow had life to lot, ere earth gave thanks for the sun, Ere man in his darkness waking adored what the soul in him could, And the manifold God of his making was manifest evil and good, One law from the dim beginning abode and abides in the end, In sight of him sorrowing and sinning with none but his faith for friend. Dark were the shadows around him, and darker the glories above, Ere light from beyond them found him, and bade him for love's sake love. About him was darkness, and under and over him darkness: the night That conceived him and bore him had thunder for utterance and lightning for light. The dust of death was the dust of the ways that the tribes of him trod: And he knew not if just or unjust were the might of the mystery of God. Strange horror and hope, strange faith and unfaith, were his boon and his bane: And the God of his trust was the wraith of the soul or the ghost of it slain. A curse was on death as on birth, and a Presence that shone as a sword Shed menace from heaven upon earth that beheld him, and hailed him her Lord. Sublime and triumphant as fire or as lightning, he kindled the skies, And withered with dread the desire that would look on the light of his eyes. Earth shuddered with worship, and knew not if hell were not hot in her breath; If birth were not sin, and the dew of the morning the sweat of her death. The watchwords of evil and good were unspoken of men and unheard: They were shadows that willed as he would, that were made and unmade by his word. His word was darkness and light, and a wisdom that makes men mad Sent blindness upon them for sight, that they saw but and heard as he bade. Cast forth and corrupt from the birth by the crime of creation, they stood Convicted of evil on earth by the grace of a God found good. The grace that enkindled and quickened the darkness of hell with flame Bade man, though the soul in him sickened, obey, and give praise to his name. The still small voice of the spirit whose life is as plague's hot breath Bade man shed blood, and inherit the life of the kingdom of death.