GOING TO CHURCH.
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I woke at three; for I was bidTo breakfast with the Dean at nine,And thence to Church. My curtain slid,I found the dawning Sunday fine,And could not rest, so rose. The airWas dark and sharp; the roosted birdsCheep’d, ‘Here am I, Sweet; are you there?’On Avon’s misty flats the herdsExpected, comfortless, the day,Which slowly fired the clouds above;The cock scream’d, somewhere far away;In sleep the matrimonial doveWas crooning; no wind waked the wood,Nor moved the midnight river-damps,Nor thrill’d the poplar; quiet stoodThe chestnut with its thousand lamps;The moon shone yet, but weak and drear,And seem’d to watch, with bated breath,The landscape, all made sharp and clearBy stillness, as a face by death. 2 My pray’rs for her being done, I tookOccasion by the quiet hourTo find and know, by Rule and Book,The rights of love’s beloved power. 3 Fronting the question without ruth,Nor ignorant that, evermore,If men will stoop to kiss the Truth,She lifts them higher than before,I, from above, such light requiredAs now should once for all destroyThe folly which at times desiredA sanction for so great a joy. 4 Thenceforth, and through that pray’r, I trodA path with no suspicions dim.I loved her in the name of God,And for the ray she was of Him;I ought to admire much more, not lessHer beauty was a godly grace;The mystery of loveliness,Which made an altar of her face,Was not of the flesh, though that was fair,But a most pure and living lightWithout a name, by which the rareAnd virtuous spirit flamed to sight.If oft, in love, effect lack’d causeAnd cause effect, ’twere vain to soarReasons to seek for that which wasReason itself, or something more.My joy was no idolatryUpon the ends of the vile earth bent,For when I loved her most then IMost yearn’d for more divine content.That other doubt, which, like a ghost,In the brain’s darkness haunted me,Was thus resolved: Him loved I most,But her I loved most sensibly.Lastly, my giddiest hope allow’dNo selfish thought, or earthly smirch;And forth I went, in peace, and proudTo take my passion into Church;Grateful and glad to think that allSuch doubts would seem entirely vainTo her whose nature’s lighter fallMade no divorce of heart from brain. 5 I found them, with exactest graceAnd fresh as Spring, for Spring attired;And by the radiance in her faceI saw she felt she was admired;And, through the common luck of love,A moment’s fortunate delay,To fit the little lilac glove,Gave me her arm; and I and they(They true to this and every hour,As if attended on by Time),Enter’d the Church while yet the towerWas noisy with the finish’d chime. 6 Her soft voice, singularly heardBeside me, in her chant, withstoodThe roar of voices, like a birdSole warbling in a windy wood;And, when we knelt, she seem’d to beAn angel teaching me to pray;And all through the high LiturgyMy spirit rejoiced without allay,Being, for once, borne clearly aboveAll banks and bars of ignorance,By this bright spring-tide of pure love,And floated in a free expanse,Whence it could see from side to side,The obscurity from every partWinnow’d away and purifiedBy the vibrations of my heart.
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