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 BY 
 
 EDITH WILLI5 LINN 
 
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OUT OF THE DEEP « 
 
 Ipen ipfctures In iprose aitD IDerse 
 
 %r 
 
 EDITH WILLIS LINN 
 
 NEW YORK 
 THE METAPHYSICAL PUBLISHING CO. 
 
 503 Fifth Avenue 
 
 mr 
 

 Copyright, 1895, by 
 EDITH WILLIS LINN 
 
 
 TROW DIRECTORY 
 
 PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
EVOLUTION 
 
 With the aspiring pine my soul was bound. 
 
 Mine was the joyous birth 
 
 Through the dark soil of earth 
 
 Into the upper air ; 
 
 Mine was the sunlight found, 
 
 Mine was the watchful sky 
 
 Whither I lifted high 
 
 Glad arms, as if in prayer. 
 
 Under the solemn skies I joyed to stand, 
 When the strong winter blast 
 From the north, rushing past, 
 Whirled on my- crown of snow. 
 When spring's caressing hand 
 Wakened the world again, 
 Mine was a tender strain 
 Sunof to the flowers below. 
 
So from the earth and air I learned to praise. 
 
 And when my race was run, 
 
 All the sweet sighing done, 
 
 The war with wind and rain 
 
 Overpast — nights and days 
 
 Flowed on as one to me 
 
 Wrapped in the mystery 
 
 Of life in Heaven again. 
 
 While leaf and branch and bough slept in the 
 
 mould, 
 The life that led them high 
 Up toward the beckoning sky ; 
 Life that was more than tree ; 
 With its new freedom bold 
 Into God's presence came, 
 Mingled again in flame 
 With the All-mystery. 
 
 To the glad race of flowers I am akin. 
 Mine was the life that knew 
 Beauty of form and hue 
 Blent with a strange perfume. 
 Mine was the strength to win 
 Battle with wind and rain. 
 Springing to earth again 
 Out of surrounding gloom. 
 
5 
 
 Oh ! when I feel once more the life of spring 
 
 Pulse through my human veins ; 
 
 When the soft April rains 
 
 Moisten the waiting sod ; 
 
 When first the blue-birds sing, 
 
 I am as one new-born, 
 
 Thrilling with life unworn, 
 
 Opening my heart to God. 
 
 Whenever bees are glad in blooms of June, 
 
 I have a sense of life 
 
 Free once from human strife : 
 
 Now all too dimly known. 
 
 And through the fragrant noon 
 
 I seem to know the power 
 
 That is the rose's dower — 
 
 Soul into perfume blown.- 
 
 When — leaf and blossom sear — I, too, seemed 
 
 dead 
 To every sight and sound ; 
 Through many a mystic round 
 Of clouds and prismic dew, 
 That spark of being sped 
 Into the light and fire ; 
 Whence, born of soul-desire, 
 All life comes forth anew. 
 
To my imprisoned soul pinions belong. 
 
 I know the tiny nest 
 
 By dainty birdlings prest ; 
 
 Know all the rhapsody 
 
 Of love that speaks in song. 
 
 I know the hovering wings 
 
 Of one who broods and sings : 
 
 Mine was that ecstasy. 
 
 Mine were the birds' dumb wants ; I know them 
 
 all, 
 And long to soar again 
 Out of this strife and pain 
 Where the weak human clings, 
 Waiting the heavenly call ; 
 Yet, like grim prison bars. 
 Doubt shuts me from the stars, 
 Cripples the spirit's wings. 
 
 When with the bird had passed song, nesting, 
 
 flight ; 
 When the soft, downy breast 
 Sank to eternal rest ; 
 Out of that soul of song, 
 Into immortal light. 
 Burst the ethereal flame 
 
That hath nor form nor name, 
 Yet burns forever strong. 
 
 Thus through all forms of life runs the same 
 
 soul. 
 That which is one with God, 
 Rising from mire and clod 
 Through countless shining rounds 
 Makes one unbroken whole : 
 Growth, song, and scent aspire, 
 One with man's high desire. 
 Spurning earth's narrow bounds. 
 
 I am the sum of all that has been gained 
 Both out of death and birth, 
 Through myriad forms of earth. 
 This deathless soul of mine 
 Counts not each course attained : 
 Only by sudden gleams 
 Memory immortal seems — 
 Human, and yet divine. 
 
 Oft in this needy world, bespent with care, 
 With restlessness and pain. 
 High purpose seems in vain ; 
 Compassed, the spirit's power ; 
 
8 
 
 Then even praise and prayer 
 Doubtfully rise to God ; 
 Unceasing strife and plod 
 Crush the soul hour by hour. 
 
 Oh, for a constant sight that can assure, 
 
 Faith in a purpose vast. 
 
 That through an ageless past 
 
 Led the soul out of gloom ! 
 
 Oh, for a heart so pure 
 
 As to pierce through the night. 
 
 Finding the forms of light 
 
 Flidden beyond the tomb ! 
 
 What is the whole sublime, that from this chain 
 
 Of endless forms shall rise ? 
 
 Only the Father wise 
 
 Knoweth His own vast plan. 
 
 Self-sacrifice were vain ; 
 
 Vain, love's unselfish thought ; 
 
 All, art through man hath wrought, 
 
 If death to ruin ran. 
 
 Nay ! not for this, the strife up from the clay. 
 Human hope, toil, and fears. 
 Prayer, love, desire, and tears, 
 
Make one link in the chain 
 Whose ends are far away, 
 Hidden from human sight, 
 Lost both in dark and light 
 Till God shall make them plain. 
 
THE POET 
 
 The soul of the poet dwelt close to God. He 
 saw only beauty and goodness in the universe, 
 and in his exaltation his life burst into melody. 
 His heart bade him go forth into the world and 
 tell his joy. " Stay," said Wealth ; " I will heap 
 my gold about you." "Tarry," said Pride; 
 '^ I will bring the world to you." "Linger," 
 said Love, "and let us look into each other's 
 eyes ; let us drink life's red wine together ; let 
 us dance under the shade of the spice-tree, and 
 fall asleep amid the roses." 
 
 But the soul of the poet was glad within him 
 and he heeded not. From the dark castle of 
 his ancestors, gloomy with overhanging vines, 
 and damp with gray mosses and the mold of 
 centuries, under the crumbling turrets and be- 
 neath the mighty arches that cast an impene- 
 trable shadow, the poet passed out into the 
 world, singing. 
 
 He came to an ocean over which white- 
 winged ships hastened. Its foam-curled bil- 
 
lows lapped the yellow sand in mellow music ; 
 shells tinted like the dimpled palm of a baby 
 were strewn amid the delicate seaweeds, and the 
 blue sl<y bent above all as a bridegroom bends 
 above his new-made bride. And as he walked 
 and sang, an old man drew near. He was 
 blind, and his life was heavy with the burden 
 of passed but unforgotten grief. The song 
 from the poet's soul fell upon the ears of the 
 sad, blind one, and he eagerly questioned : 
 "Can it be true there is aught in life but 
 pain, aught but broken cordage, abandoned 
 wrecks, and sands strewn with bleached 
 bones?" And the God - like one passed on, 
 singing. 
 
 Unto the hills he went, the hills green with 
 waving grasses and spangled with the gold and 
 azure and white of myriad dainty blossoms. 
 Here he met a shepherd vainly seeking a lost 
 lamb. The shepherd listened to the song ; his 
 face lighted. He retraced his steps to his neg- 
 lected flock and drove them to shelter from 
 the oncoming storm. And the white soul 
 passed on, singing. 
 
 He came to a great city where the crowd 
 surged by him like the rushing of a swollen 
 river. Above the tumultuous cries of the gain- 
 seekers arose the voice of a woman. A face 
 once beautiful looked out at him from masses 
 
of dishevelled hair. Eyes once glowing, lips 
 once proud, bore the traces of pain and hu- 
 mility. The woman stayed her steps and lis- 
 tened to the song. From her eyes hot tears 
 fell. She raised her drooping head, and lifting 
 her babe in her arms, she kissed it. The sad 
 lips smiled. " Is it, then, true," she said, " that 
 love is all ? That he who loves best is the 
 noblest ? That he who loves and forgives, is 
 forgiven, is pure ? " And the glad poet passed 
 on, singing. 
 
 He came to a group of men at their wine. 
 One, hardly a man, was there ; his fair skin was 
 flushed, his eyes were bleared, his hand shook 
 as he raised his cup. He heard the song ; he 
 put down his wine and listened. His com- 
 panions burst into loud laughter and pressed 
 the cup to his lips, but he heeded them not ; 
 their voices were drowned by the song, and the 
 young man followed the singer out under the 
 star-lit heavens, onward into the silent path- 
 ways of the country, where all was cool and 
 restful and pure. And the joyous one passed 
 on, singing. 
 
 He came to a place where two armies strove 
 together, and one fought for a high and holy 
 cause against a host that threatened to over- 
 throw it. The thinning ranks heard the song ; 
 they rallied to their standard ; they pressed on 
 
13 
 
 to victory. The dying heard the song and 
 looked heavenward. And the joyous one 
 passed on, singing. 
 
 He came to a churchyard, where, in the 
 shadow of a yew-tree, the sexton filled up a 
 grave. A woman cast herself upon it, and 
 broke into loud grief ; her tears wet the dry 
 earth of the grave. Her friends lifted her to 
 bear her away. She heard the song ; she raised 
 her eyes ; she stood upright ; she crossed her 
 hands upon her breast, listening. " Is it true," 
 she said, "what he sings of that far land, where 
 souls shall meet and know their own ? " And 
 the pure one passed on, singing. 
 
 Thus he met many people and journeyed 
 into many lands, and all who heard his song 
 found in it the solace for their own particular 
 grief, and each thought he sang for each — he 
 who sang only because his love was great and 
 his heart was glad. And as he journeyed he 
 came to a great river that flowed in silence be- 
 tween two countries. The waves were dark 
 and deep, and none had ever seen the opposite 
 shore, wrapped in the mist of doubt and dis- 
 tance. The poet paused not to doubt. He 
 looked back at the land he was quitting with a 
 smile, and passed over the dark river, singing. 
 
ASPIRATION * 
 
 I AM the blush of the summer rose, 
 
 The flush of the morn, 
 The smile on the face of the dead. 
 
 The song newly born 
 From heart of the poet, from shell of the sea, 
 From rush of the river that oceanward flows. 
 
 I am immortal. Who knows me is glad. 
 
 Men give me the name 
 Of passions that kindle the soul — 
 
 Love, faith, beauty, fame. 
 I dwell with all these, yet am higher than all. 
 Without me the angels of heaven were sad. 
 
 * By permission of the Century Publishing Company. 
 
THE SHADOW .WOMAN 
 
 One bright, sweet day stands clearly forth in 
 memory. Under the motionless blue of heaven 
 the world was radiant with the warm love-kiss 
 of June. The golden orioles called as they 
 flashed from tree to tree, and other song-birds 
 of our northern clime made music through all 
 the long, perfect day. Knee-deep the bloom- 
 ing grass stood, like transfixed mist, and woven 
 through it gleamed the gold and white, the 
 azure and pink of myriad weeds that lifted 
 their dainty blossom-heads to greet the hurry- 
 ing feet of June. 
 
 Hat in hand and hair all wind-tossed, I re- 
 member standing beside a slope pink with wild 
 rose blooms, and nuisical with happy bees that 
 mined amid the golden - hearted flowers and 
 bore away their treasure. My child-heart was 
 full of the melody of the season ; it felt in har- 
 mony with all things great and lovely, and the 
 June-tide flooded through it as through the 
 outer world. Suddenly I felt a presence near. 
 
i6 
 
 and turning, beheld a child who stood near me, 
 in figure like myself, but clothed in black gar- 
 ments which contrasted strangely with the sun- 
 enfolded scene. "Who are you?" I asked. 
 The figure did not answer ; her face was turned 
 from me and she seemed not to hear. 
 
 I remember how the glory of the June day 
 died away. The birds sang but faintly, while 
 in my soul I felt a strange unrest. And as I 
 gazed over the western hills I saw the sun fast 
 sinking, and the evening star shone palely down 
 upon me through the translucent air, as I wept 
 for the day that was no more. 
 
 I remember my first kiss of love, at which 
 my womanhood grew conscious of itself. From 
 the soft-whispered words, the fond caress, I 
 turned to see beside me the figure of a woman, 
 like my own but clothed in black. Her face 
 was turned from me and I saw it not. " Who 
 are you?" I asked. She did not heed. But 
 my lover's hand grew cold to my touch, and 
 through my falling tears I saw I was alone. 
 
 I remember standing beside the coffin of a 
 dear, loved friend, to lay upon the still form 
 the last tribute of a pure affection. My tears 
 fell fast — tears of sorrow, yet sweet and holy 
 tears — springing from fond memories and the 
 sense that death need not be loss. Hope looked 
 longingly beyond the moment's desolation, 
 
17 
 
 while faith's white finger showed my soul the 
 radiant pathway heavenward. When, lo ! be- 
 side me 1 beheld the figure of a woman, like 
 my own but robed in black. Her face was 
 turned from me and I saw it not. 
 
 ''Who are you," I asked, ''that leaves me 
 not in my joy or my sorrow?" She did not 
 answer, and as she passed from sight I heard 
 the clods of earth drop loudly down upon the 
 lowered coffin. 
 
 Thus this figure has dwelt beside me, grow- 
 ing as I grew, haunting me forever, amid my 
 joy and pain, amid my praise and prayer, a 
 dark-robed figure that is like a shadow self. 
 
 Once only have I beheld her face. It was 
 upon a wild, tempestuous night, when the 
 dashing rain beat madly upon the window and 
 the trees sighed and moaned outside, when the 
 sky grew momentarily lurid from the angry 
 flash of the lightning, and the hills and glens 
 reverberated with the thunder's awful peal. 
 
 My heart, torn by a storm of equal fury to 
 that which raged without, strove with besetting 
 passions and the beckoning of a great tempta- 
 tion. Then, as I knelt in doubt and trouble, I 
 felt that shadowy presence near. Springing to 
 my feet, I asked : " Who are you that thus 
 comes between me and my God ? " 
 
 She. answered me not, standing with her face 
 
turned from me. Then, summoning all my 
 courage, I cried aloud : " Stay ! You shall not 
 escape me ; I will look upon you. Too long I 
 have feared to meet you ; now I shall have my 
 will." And seizing the grim shape I held it 
 fast. It turned its face to mine, and by the 
 gleam of a lightning flash I beheld my own 
 face look out at me from the shadow. My own 
 face, yet not the same ; for from sunken eyes 
 flashed a strange fire ; the ghastly cheeks were 
 shrunken and the lips drawn in a sinister smile. 
 
 Only a moment did my eyes behold that 
 face, but long enough to know it was like mine 
 in every lineament, and yet so strange. Then, 
 as the thunder crashed about me I heard wild, 
 mocking laughter and the universe seemed full 
 of only self. 
 
 Falling on my knees I prayed, and as I prayed 
 I knew that again I was alone. 
 
 Often since has that shadow woman stood be- 
 side me, but only once in that moment of su- 
 premest temptation have I beheld her face. 
 
 Thus walks she with me evermore. Shall it 
 be evermore ? Hell would mean her victory, 
 and Heaven her defeat. 
 
WHENCE AND WHITHER ? 
 
 There's a spring behind the river, 
 
 Far above us on the mountain 
 Where the mornings come the soonest 
 
 And the evenings longest glow ; 
 There's a bow behind the arrow, 
 
 Flying swiftly from the bow-string ; 
 There's a bow behind the arrow, 
 
 And a hand behind the bow ; 
 There's a root beneath the flower 
 
 In the darkness far below. 
 
 There's a sea before the river, 
 
 Mighty sea that rolls in splendor ; 
 There's a mark before the arrow 
 
 Speeding, singing, on its way ; ' 
 There is seed before the blossom 
 
 Pregnant seed, that holds the meaning 
 Of the fragrance of the flower 
 
 And the colors warm and gay ; 
 There is yesterday behind us, 
 
 And to-morrow for to-day. 
 
FROM PARADISE 
 
 She stood upon the battlements of Heaven — 
 a white-robed angel with a lily in her hand. 
 She gazed out over the star-lit universe — down, 
 down the deep arches of the night, until her 
 soul - vision pierced our atmosphere, while 
 through the air of Heaven sweet music stole. 
 
 Thus she beheld the restless throng of men 
 that hurried up and down in selfish haste ; she 
 sensed the greed for gain, and the hot fire of 
 uncontrolled passion struck out at her through 
 the gloom. 
 
 She beheld poverty and disease rampant in 
 the world ; she saw men's souls dwarfed and 
 belittled by lust and hate and crime — while 
 through the air of Heaven sweet music stole. 
 
 " Alas ! that they should suffer so," she said. 
 " Would that I could go to them bearing this 
 lily ; this lily, whose name is purity." And 
 across the deeps of night a soft wind came and 
 fanned the angel's brow, while through the air 
 of Heaven sweet music stole. 
 
Turning, she perceived behind her one whiter 
 than herself. 
 
 " Daughter," he said, " I have heard thy 
 words. If in thy soul thou truly desirest to go 
 yonder to the world, red and reeking with the 
 blood and sweat of war and toil, thou shalt de- 
 part. But remember this : thou shalt bear 
 great sorrow ; thou shalt be led through pain 
 and woe, such as thou hast felt before but re- 
 memberest not. Thou shalt know again the 
 burden of the breath ; man shall tempt thee, 
 but fear not ; if thou bearest ever with thee thy 
 lily thou needest not fear. Thou art fit to bear 
 a message unto man, but thou must be brave 
 and faithful ; and though when thou art dwell- 
 ing below thy earthly consciousness shall not 
 remember this, thy truer life, during rare mo- 
 ments thou shalt have visions of the celestial 
 city and be strangely conscious of thy angel- 
 hood. Be true to these glimpses and thou shalt 
 bless the world, and gain, through added earth- 
 ly experience, a greater strength and glory." 
 
 He ceased, and through the air of Heaven 
 sweet music stole. 
 
 Then one came close to the angel, bearing 
 her a black mantle. She gathered it closely 
 about her and started across the gateway, but 
 paused, and, turning, gazed back upon the 
 heavenly land. 
 
*' My home," she said, "farewell! I shall 
 visit thee in dreams. I shall come again more 
 fit to dwell amid thy holy precincts. I go to 
 bless and to be blessed. Farewell ! " 
 
 It has been whispered in Heaven that a soul 
 is to depart. Thus came a host of bright 
 ones, gathering about her and speaking words 
 of cheer and hope, and beautiful flowers were 
 strewn about her feet — while through the air 
 of Heaven sweet music stole. 
 
 Then a chosen few passed with the angel 
 through the open portal, and kept with her for 
 a time down the star-strewn ways from Para- 
 dise to earth. 
 
 At last they left her alone amid the starlight, 
 still bearing the spotless lily in her hand. Now 
 she waited silently, her hands folded in prayer, 
 her feet resting upon a cloud above a great city. * 
 
 Suddenly she beheld a door open, and fol- 
 lowing a light she entered, while through the 
 air of Heaven sweet music stole. 
 
 Down the deeps of night a shooting-star fell, 
 and one said, " A soul departs for Paradise," 
 and another said, " A pure one is born." 
 
 In a humble home, where poverty and toil 
 were household words, where daily labor barely 
 met the daily need, where ignorance belittled 
 and pain dwarfed, a child was born ; and the 
 mother, as she gazed upon her, lifted up her 
 
23 
 
 face and said : " She is pure and spotless ; let 
 her name be * Lily.' " 
 
 So came an angel out of Paradise — so a babe 
 was born — while through the air of Heaven 
 sweet music stole. 
 
FLOWERS 
 
 Not for man's uses do they shed their beauty, 
 By every highway, field, and pasture bars ; 
 
 But from an inner sense of life and duty 
 
 That lifts the dumb cell upward toward the 
 stars. 
 
 Not for man's pleasure are the flowers growing ; 
 Though eyes were blind the roses still had 
 blown. 
 The spirit takes these forms, with beauty glow- 
 ing. 
 That we of higher being have outgrown. 
 
 Purpose of life have flowers ; glad goals invite 
 them. 
 Not aimlessly the purple violets blow. 
 Ages from now the human shall unite them 
 To hope and love and prayer that mortals 
 know. 
 
25 
 
 I was of them some time, in by-gone ages. 
 
 They are outreaching through all forms to 
 God. 
 Scent of the roses, mind of wisest sages, 
 
 Alike have striven upward from the clod. 
 
 Who shall declare the soul or count its hours ? 
 
 Weigh it, or measure it, or tell its form ? 
 Vibrating through the beauty of the flowers, 
 
 Sweeping upon the dark wings of the storm. 
 
 All life is spirit pregnant with God's being. 
 
 The very clods are quickened by His breath 
 To rise and seek Him ; blindness turns to see- 
 ing, 
 Soul strives from form to form and knows no 
 death. 
 
THE CITY 
 
 I REMEMBER the turretcd walls of a great city, 
 through one of whose mystic gateways I passed 
 outward to forgetfulness — which men name life. 
 In my soul I bear the consciousness of a far-off 
 glory that was mine. 
 
 Sometimes, when sunset colors change the 
 sky into splendor, far away amid the dazzling 
 peaks of high-piled gold and crimson clouds, 
 I think I see the gleaming walls, the sunny pal- 
 aces of my native land ; but as I watch 'neath 
 shading hand, the night's gray mantle shuts me 
 from the vision of delight. 
 
 Sometimes, when night spreads over the 
 silent earth the starry banners of its reign, I see 
 through the deep spaces of the luminous air 
 the outlines of a mighty city that seems to 
 beckon to my soul, " Come hither." But even 
 as I gaze the outlines disappear, and only the 
 stars look down upon me with their calm and 
 restful eyes. 
 
 Sometimes, when I look into the heart of a 
 
27 
 
 flower, stealing over me comes a faint memory 
 of a .time, long, long ago, when it and I were 
 together in some lovely land whose memory is 
 as the memory of some childhood's hour — some 
 event so dim we scarcely know if it be dream, 
 fact, or fancy. Flooding my soul comes the 
 sense of a life that has been mine. Some per- 
 fection of nature, some breath that sways the 
 summer forests, brings me a sense of pre-exist- 
 ence, a consciousness of life and love and beauty 
 and power that was as this, yet more, far more. 
 
 Sometimes, from the crowd of humanity that 
 surges around me, where men meet and speak 
 and pass to meet no more, gleams a face 
 strangely familiar. I remember such eyes that 
 gazed into mine long ago, in a strange, far-off 
 land ; and in my palm I feel a familiar touch, 
 and know that thus in our native land, side by 
 side and hand in hand, we walked amid the 
 fadeless flowers of a paradise. Such have I 
 named my friends, and together we journey. 
 
 Amid the music and the dance of life, when 
 wine is red and eyes are bright ; when love's 
 kiss is warm upon the lips, and hand clasps 
 hand in thrilling touch, over my soul comes a 
 sense of sadness that seems the shadow of a 
 lost delight. I am discontented because I have 
 sometime tasted a purer joy. 
 
 Amid heart-break and pain, when the soul 
 
28 
 
 must dwell alone, when the flesh is w^eary of its 
 sickness, when death looks out at me from 
 under his sombre brows, or bears away some 
 cherished life, my soul leaps with a strange joy 
 that seems the memory of a time when these 
 were not. 
 
 Amid the daily toil and plod, the petty 
 doings, the little strivings of a busy life, the 
 memory of the Beautiful City rushes over me 
 to strengthen my soul, to give patience to my 
 heart, and make me glad with a strange, unac- 
 countable gladness. 
 
 I am conscious of my exile. In my dreams I 
 often stray within the precincts of my half-re- 
 membered home ; and morning's waking beams 
 find me sad that I must still wander along the 
 shadowy paths of earth. 
 
 Oh, Beautiful City ! I have sung of you in 
 my songs, and some have understood and others 
 have passed on in silence. Oh, Beautiful City ! 
 When shall I tread again within the radiance of 
 your gleaming walls ? 
 
 Through what ages must I wander from 
 planet to planet before my soul grows pure to 
 dwell eternally wuth you ? 
 
 Oh, Beautiful City, I do not forget ! To you 
 ascend the daily aspirations of an exiled soul. 
 
OUT OF THE DEEP 
 
 Out of the deep strange voices call 
 
 And visions beckon me afar ; 
 Out of the deep whence shadows fall, 
 
 Whence gleams the light of evening's star 
 Whence roses bloom, and whirlwinds sweep. 
 
 And sighs are born — out of the deep. 
 
 Out of the deep whence sunsets glow ; 
 
 Whence springs the earth's unending life, 
 Cometh the wish to feel and know 
 
 A something more than earthly strife ; 
 To soar instead of feebly creep 
 
 Through shadows cast out of the deep. 
 
 Out of the deep, I know not how, 
 I hear strange music rise and fall, 
 
 I see clear eyes and heavenly brow 
 Smile back at me, and voices call 
 
 Above the pathway long and steep, 
 To meet my kindred, out of the deep. 
 
30 
 
 Out of the deep, whence all things spring, 
 These thoughts have filled my human brain, 
 
 Flitting to me like birds on wing, 
 Nestling so close, to ease all pain ; — 
 
 Saying, " Sing on, for soon ye sleep. 
 Through silence borne into the deep."- 
 
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