American poetry -- 19th century; Spiritualism -- Poetry
Once before I found a mortal
Waiting at the heavenly portal--
Waiting but to catch some echo from that ever-opening door;
Then I seized his quickened being,
And through all his inward seeing,
Caused my burning inspiration in a fiery flood to pour!
Now I come more meekly human,
And the wreak lips of a woman
Touch with fire from off the altar, not with burnings as of yore;
But in holy love descending,
With her chastened being blending,
I would fill your souls with music from the bright celestial shore.
As one heart yearns for another,
As a child turns to its mother,
From the golden gates of glory turn I to the earth once more,
Where I drained the cup of sadness,
Where my soul was stung to madness,
And life’s bitter, burning billows swept my burdened being o’er.
Here the harpies and the ravens,--
Human vampyres, sordid cravens,--
Preyed upon my soul and substance till I writhed in anguish sore;
Life and I then seemed mismated,
For I felt accursed and fated,
Like a restless, wrathful spirit, wandering on the Stygian shore.
Tortured by a nameless yearning,
Like a frost-fire, freezing, burning,
Did the purple, pulsing life-tide through its fevered channels pour,
Till the golden bowl--Life’s token--
Into shining shards was broken,
And my chained and chafing spirit leaped from out its prison door.
But while living, striving, dying,
Never did my soul cease crying,
“Ye who guide the Fates and Furies, give, O give me, I implore,
From the myriad hosts of nations,
From the countless constellations,
One pure spirit that can love me--one that I, too, can adore!”
Through this fervent aspiration
Found my fainting soul salvation,
For from out its blackened fire-crypts did my quickened spirit soar;
And my beautiful ideal--
Not too saintly to be real--
Burst more brightly on my vision than the loved and lost Lenore.
’Mid the surging seas she found me,
With the billows breaking round me,
And my saddened, sinking spirit in her arms of love upbore;
Like a lone one, weak and weary,
Wandering in the midnight dreary,
On her sinless, saintly bosom, brought me to the heavenly shore.
Like the breath of blossoms blending,
Like the prayers of saints ascending,
Like the rainbow’s seven-hued glory, blend our souls forevermore;
Earthly love and lust enslaved me,
But divinest love hath saved me,
And I know now, first and only, how to love and to adore.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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