John Drinkwater

To E. de S.

COME down at dawn from windless hills

Into the valley of the lake,

Where yet a larger quiet fills

The hour, and mist and water make

With rocks and reeds and island boughs

One silence and one element,

Where wonder goes surely as once

It went

By Galilean prows.

Moveless the water and the mist,

Moveless the secret air above,

Hushed, as upon some happy tryst

The poised expectancy of love;

What spirit is it that adores

What mighty presence yet unseen?

What consummation works apace

Between

These rapt enchanted shores?

Never did virgin beauty wake

Devouter to the bridal feast

Than moves this hour upon the lake

In adoration to the east.

Here is the bride a god may know,

The primal will, the young consent,

Till surely upon the appointed mood

Intent

The god shall leap—and, lo,

Over the lake’s end strikes the sun—

White, flameless fire; some purity

Thrilling the mist, a splendor won

Out of the world’s heart. Let there be

Thoughts, and atonements, and desires;

Proud limbs, and undeliberate tongue;

Where now we move with mortal care

Among

Immortal dews and fires.

So the old mating goes apace,

Wind with the sea, and blood with thought,

Lover with lover; and the grace

Of understanding comes unsought

When stars into the twilight steer,

Or thrushes build among the may,

Or wonder moves between the hills,

And day

Comes up on Rydal mere.