Faintly we echo--like this spake the Shadow and like this the Glory.

A poem by George William Russell

The Shadow

Who art thou, O Glory,
In flame from the deep,
Where stars chant their story,
Why trouble my sleep?

I hardly had rested,
My dreams wither now:
Why comest thou crested
And gemmed on they brow?

The Glory

Up, Shadow, and follow
The way I will show;
The blue gleaming hollow
To-night we will know,

And rise mid the vast to
The fountain of days;
From whence we had pass to
The parting of ways.

The Shadow

I know thee, O Glory:
Thine eyes and thy brow
With white fire all hoary
Come back to me now.

Together we wandered
In ages agone;
Our thoughts as we pondered
Were stars at the dawn.

The glory has dwindled,
My azure and gold:
Yet you keep enkindled
The Sun-fire of old.

My footsteps are tied to
The heath and the stone;
My thoughts earth-allied-to--
Ah! leave me alone.

Go back, thou of gladness,
Nor wound me with pain,
Nor spite me with madness,
Nor come nigh again.

The Glory

Why tremble and weep now,
Whom stars once obeyed?
Come forth to the deep now
And be not afraid.

The Dark One is calling,
I know, for his dreams
Around me are falling
In musical streams.

A diamond is burning
In depths of the Lone
Thy spirit returning
May claim for its throne.

In flame-fringed islands
Its sorrows shall cease,
Absorbed in the silence
And quenched in the peace.

Come lay thy poor head on
My breast where it glows
With love ruby-red on
Thy heart for its woes.

My power I surrender:
To thee it is due:
Come forth, for the splendor
Is waiting for you.

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