TWO angels, one of Life and one of Death, | |
| Passed o’er our village as the morning broke; | |
| The dawn was on their faces, and beneath, | |
| The sombre houses hearsed with plumes of smoke. | |
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| Their attitude and aspect were the same, | 5 |
| Alike their features and their robes of white; | |
| But one was crowned with amaranth, as with flame, | |
| And one with asphodels, like flakes of light. | |
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| I saw them pause on their celestial way; | |
| Then said I, with deep fear and doubt oppressed, | 10 |
| “Beat not so loud, my heart, lest thou betray | |
| The place where thy beloved are at rest!” | |
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| And he who wore the crown of asphodels, | |
| Descending, at my door began to knock, | |
| And my soul sank within me, as in wells | 15 |
| The waters sink before an earthquake’s shock. | |
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| I recognized the nameless agony, | |
| The terror and the tremor and the pain, | |
| That oft before had filled or haunted me, | |
| And now returned with threefold strength again. | 20 |
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| The door I opened to my heavenly guest, | |
| And listened, for I thought I heard God’s voice; | |
| And, knowing whatsoe’er he sent was best, | |
| Dared neither to lament nor to rejoice. | |
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| Then with a smile, that filled the house with light, | 25 |
| “My errand is not Death, but Life,” he said; | |
| And ere I answered, passing out of sight, | |
| On his celestial embassy he sped. | |
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| ’T was at thy door, O friend! and not at mine, | |
| The angel with the amaranthine wreath, | 30 |
| Pausing, descended, and with voice divine | |
| Whispered a word that had a sound like Death. | |
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| Then fell upon the house a sudden gloom, | |
| A shadow on those features fair and thin; | |
| And softly, from that hushed and darkened room, | 35 |
| Two angels issued, where but one went in. | |
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| All is of God! If he but wave his hand, | |
| The mists collect, the rain falls thick and loud, | |
| Till, with a smile of light on sea and land, | |
| Lo! he looks back from the departing cloud. | 40 |
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| Angels of Life and Death alike are his; | |
| Without his leave they pass no threshold o’er; | |
| Who, then, would wish or dare, believing this, | |
| Against his messengers to shut the door? | |
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