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Ballads
and Lyrics
by
Bliss Carman
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A
NORTHERN VIGIL
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HERE
by the gray north sea,
In the wintry heart of the
wild,
Comes the old dream of thee,
Guendolen, mistress and
child.
The heart of the forest grieves
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5 |
In
the drift against my door;
A voice is under the eaves,
A footfall on the floor.
Threshold, mirror and hall,
Vacant and strangely aware,
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10 |
Wait
for their soul’s recall
With the dumb expectant
air.
Here when the smouldering west
Burns down into the sea,
I take no heed of rest
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15 |
| And
keep the watch for thee.
I sit by the fire and hear
The restless wind go by,
On the long dirge and drear,
Under the low bleak sky.
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20 |
When day puts out to sea
And night makes in for land,
There is no lock for thee,
Each door awaits thy hand!
When night goes over the hill
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25 |
And
dawn comes down the dale,
It’s O for the wild sweet will
That shall no more prevail!
When the zenith moon is round,
And snow-wraiths gather
and run,
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30 |
And
there is set no bound
To love beneath the sun,
O wayward will, come near
The old mad willful way,
The soft mouth at my ear
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35 |
| With
words too sweet to say!
Come, for the night is cold,
The ghostly moonlight
fills
Hollow and rift and fold
Of the eerie Ardise hills!
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40 |
The windows of my room
Are dark with bitter frost,
The stillness aches with doom
Of something loved and lost.
Outside, the great blue star
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45 |
Burns
in the ghostland pale,
Where giant Algebar
Holds on the endless trail.
Come, for the years are long,
And silence keeps the
door,
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50 |
Where
shapes with the shadows throng
The firelit chamber floor.
Come, for thy kiss was warm,
With the red embers’
glare
Across thy folding arm
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55 |
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dark tumultuous hair!
And though thy coming rouse
The sleep-cry of no bird,
The keepers of the house
Shall tremble at thy word.
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60 |
Come, for the soul is free!
In all the vast dreamland
There is no lock for the,
Each door awaits thy hand.
Ah, not in dreams at all,
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65 |
Fleering,
perishing, dim,
But thy old self, supple and tall,
Mistress and child of whim!
The proud imperious guise,
Impetuous and serene,
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70 |
The
sad mysterious eyes,
And dignity of mien!
Yea, wilt thou not return,
When the late hill-winds
veer,
And the bright hill-flowers burn
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75 |
| With
the reviving year?
When April comes, and the sea
Sparkles as if it smiled,
Will they restore to me
My dark Love, empress
and child?
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80 |
The curtains seem to part;
A sound is on the stair,
As if at the last . . . I start;
Only the wind is there.
Lo, now far on the hills
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85 |
The
crimson fumes uncurled,
Where the caldron mantles and spills
Another dawn on the world!
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