Stirring From a Dreary Sleep, and Dreaming

Stirring from a dreary sleep, and dreaming,
I rolled from comfort into chilly air.
The cold did not dispel my mental slumb'ring,
Nor remove sleep's lazy tendrils, unclear,
But braided in mind with divine half-truths.

In this state I saw a statue of my being,
(So to speak...) An image, cloudy in the mental eye...
Armoured and naked, large and small... My seeing
Flitted 'round and changed like Northern skies,
Taunting me, an eager and curious youth.

I believe it was a picture of my self;
A picture-prophet... Or rather, prophetess,
A servant of God, like those at Delphi
Who whirled and sang and showed their inward breast,
To Greece, like mothers who love, but stay aloof.

Wisps and shoots of falsehood still remaining,
She spoke and built a statue with her words;
Enigmas, jokes, and falsehoods intertwining
With chirps and melodies, like that of birds,
Her twinkling eye a mirror and a spoof.

I lent my ear to catch new sounds, or tried,
For I heard little, understood less...
From somewhere utterances arose and died,
Vivid yet obscure, like a roaring lioness,
Her self and source her only proof.

Of a sudden, resonance replaced desire to know
And sounds unwrapped themselves. Contingencies
Became in mind the branches of the tree unknown,
Which, seen as such, are, too, necessities,
Whole, beholden, beheld by holy truth.

I saw my weal in woman's eyes:
She said: "I am ground and statue crumbling;
I am peaceful, loving, Christ-like and kind,
Humble, I am to my brethren humbling;
One with source and seething ground of sooth.

"Rooted and grounded in love, I am that tree,
And each branch, grafted in, drenched in love,
With this unknowing trunk, vibrant, happy,
Receiving life below and life above,
Riches in blooming ground, and pouring roof.

"The virtues four increase a hundredfold!
For man is man when he is purified
From sin; not pleased and rich or wise and old:
Yes, man is man when man has died!
This dying life, my ruin and my ruth."

And more, she told me, "Wait." That word rang clear.
Projecting stillness, she became a song
Of patience, without bustle, noise, or fear,
Like lying still in bed, or righted wrongs,
Like a warhorse, resting powerful hoof.

As dawn-light broke on day, and on my brain
She left me, with a whisp'ring echo of her tune
Still resounding 'tween my ears. To know again
What then I knew beyond unknowing
I, waking, now am searching like a slueth.

But so it is! Praise the Lord of souls!
The ever-living Father, Son and Ghost!
So be it, God! So be it! Spirit, pull
Into grace this soul and her body-host,
and burn from me all that which is uncouth!