April 26

The Lord looseth the prisoners.

AT the last, tenderly, From the walls of the powerful fortress'd house, From the clasp of the knitted locks, from the keep of the well-closed doors, Let me be wafted.

Let me glide noiselessly forth; With the key of softness unlock the locks—with a whisper, Set ope the doors O Soul,

Tenderly, be not impatient, (Strong is your hold O mortal flesh; WAIT WHITMAN Strong is your hold O love).

AT THE DOOR

Così, com'io t'amai

Nel mortal corpo, così t'amo sciolta.

D O not their souls, who 'neath the Altar wait Until their second birth,

The gift of patience need, as separate

From their first friends of earth?

Not that earth's blessings are not all outshone

By Eden's Angel flame,

But that earth knows not yet, the Dead has won

That crown which was his aim.

For when he left it, 'twas a twilight scene

About his silent bier,

A breathless struggle, faith and sight between,

And Hope and sacred Fear.

So day by day for him from earth ascends,

As dew in summer even,

The speechless intercession of his friends,

Toward the azure heaven.

Ah! dearest, with a word he could dispel

All questioning, and raise

Our hearts to rapture, whispering all was well,

And turning prayer to praise.

And other secrets too he could declare,

By patterns all divine,

His earthly creed retouching here and there

And deepening every line.

Dearest! he longs to speak, as I to know,

And yet we both refrain;

It were not good; a little doubt below,

And all will soon be plain.