Dreams After Death

The Awakening.

A moment of years-the spell of a magic moment raise
The mask of mourning from the soul;
While yet beneath the frame-destroying furnace blazes,
The god within has sought his golden goal.

A soft caressing, born of thousand-scented breezes,
A mingling music murmuring bliss,
A blending and a sigh which every pain appeases,
And thus the soul inhales the awak'ning kiss.

A calmness reigns-in all the sounds a silence lingers,
A silence which alone is joy.
And as the fragrance streameth forth from unseen singers,
The thirsty soul awakes from earth's alloy.

For strains of mighty choirs merge from vapour voices,
With words that never language knew,
But every accent lives and every sound rejoices,
Bespreading over all its hallowed hue.

Awake- the soul is lifted from her couch of roses,
Of myriad buds to earth unknown,
Of colours more alive than ever earth discloses,
Far richer, purer, paler, more full-blown.

No sweetness can expound-terrestrial joy is sadness,
All sleeping only wakes to strife;
But here each thought and sense unites in perfect gladness,
And man perceives that life was never Life.

Now was the gentlest moment time had ever moulded,
Now as the soul unveiled her eyes,
To find herself in countless virgin arms enfolded,
Back from her sojourn in the vale of sighs.

Not born to stranger's land-no plane that asks a parting
From former earth-engendered loves;
Here every tone accords, the spirit knows no thwarting,
And love returns enriched to him who loves.

Here every thought is real and every feeling golden,
No dream-for every dream is truth,
And vistas of past glories here are not withholden,
But only anguish knows no longer truth.

Cyril Scott

Original Post
Awake in twilight time-a pale eternal
Twilight speaks imperishable words,
Within the blossomy bosom lost of groves supernal,
I hark the singing of the Paradise-birds.

Their fragrant notes with beauteous colours garnished,
Vibrate across the infinite Beyond,
Their soulful sweetness never paled or lustre tarnished,
To every tone within mine heart responds.

Among the mystic trees and sacred bowers,
Resplendent with the eternal sunset's light,
They merge their opal plumage, in unending hours,
Which slowly fade across the Infinite.

Their songs awak'ning every pent up river,
Unrolling every mighty wave of Thought,
Across the resounding lyre of the spirit quiver,
To render deathless every thrill they wrought.

Not sad, not gay, not passionless nor tender,
But a recall of deep-felt moments gone,
A something human symbols cannot ever render,
A mingling of all faded joys in one.

A strong aspiring and a blissful yearning,
Befreed from sense of separateness or dole;
A gladness born of lost delights'enrapt returning,
To lie embraced for aye within the soul.

Cyril Scott

One hour of earth caressed by heaven's fragrance,
Long faded from the earthly memory now,
When soul encircled soul among the smiling roses,
As vesper sunbeams bathed your virgin brow.

One hour which reached the crest of every rapture,
In which Life's sea had wearied of every storm,
When breathed the very essence of your virgin passion,
From out the halo of your hallowed form.

All words were mute-the soul had met the spirit,
I pressed no kiss but wrapt my life in yours,
And soul with soul we broke the bonds of flesh asunder,
The hour ended-but Life endures.

You faded from my world, yet never music
Sighed in my soul as in that moment fleet,
Though passions bloomed and withered yet my self lived only
Before the fragrance of your Lotus-feet.

And now those Lotus-arms of love extending,
Uplift my soul aspiring unto you,
And to the bliss of one forgotten earthly moment,
In which each soul each other's spirit knew.

All else is paled, we only live that moment,
Expanded now into Eternity.
Upon the sacred mirror of the Spirit graven
One moment's life is endless ecstasy.

[I]Cyril Scott[/

He had waited long, his heart enrapt in mourning,
At even seated on a moss-crowned lowe,
With dreamful eyes, to watch the surfless tide's returning,
As sunlight slowly sank in golden glow.

Her voice had sighed within, it seemed forever and ever,
Through ocean, shore and sky, he breathed its breath,
He knew that might of magic nor of Time could never
Untwine his flowers fragrant over death.

She came- but bitter anguish brought alone her beauty
Unto his heart, which beat in dole forlore,
For now her look was loveless and his path was "Duty"
They parted coldly on the sunset shore.

She cannot know-for here no more her heart remembers
-For her he had been ever and ever this-
Her love, that flickered, died and left its cruel embers
To quell his spirit down in earth's abyss.

But he recalls- though veiled is now that earth-life anguished,
Far faded as a dim and darksome spell,
When through the endless years his spirit yearned and languished,
For faded fragrance of his Asphodel.

And now his endless joy is that re-meeting mellow,
-Her coldness conquered by death's victory-
Beside that same; that ancient sunset's dying yellow,
Now in realms more radiant: airs more free.

Their arms entwined for aeons, yet as just this moment,
In union blended after years of dole,
His sense is bliss, engendered from forgotten torment,
Her sense is radiance born of soul with soul.

Cyril Scott

"On earth thou canst taste the radiance of heaven,
But in heaven thou canst not taste the anguish of earth."

I lie entranced within a mystic Eden,
-Mid cooling shadows cast by bending gladden-
Deep in the sacred mountain's hollow hidden,
And by my side reclines a little maiden
Who sings to me of Dole.

Around me murmured notes of mellow fountains
That sprinkle smiling tears on myriad mosses,
On myriad buds that deck the sacred mountains,
And now a cloud the azure slowly crosses
And breathes to me of Dole.

And birds emerge from distant unknown thickets,
And waft their lambent opalescent shadows
Upon the grass (where sing the soft-toned crickets),
Th whirl away-back to the distant meadows,
And call to me of Dole.

And lilies rise from 'mid the golden grasses,
And bow their virgin heads, and whisper lowly
Of Dole-to sink again among the masses,
And pallid shapes arise and vanish slowly,
And sing to me of Dole.

And then my heart, with curious yearning laden,
-My heart that unto every rapture reaches-
Awakens from its dream: and to the maiden,
In accents soft and faltered, it beseeches
" O tell me what is Dole?"

She answers not, but shakes her fragrant tresses,
Her smiling eyes through drooping lashes glister,
She casts a look which every sense caresses:
The while I gently urge again " My sister,
O! tell me what is Dole?"

She looks away- her child like vision follows
Afar, aloft within the vernal heaven,
A shadowy swarm of softly singing swallows,
-Then simply breathes in accents calm and even;
" I know not what is Dole."

A flood of wonderment within me falters;
I muster angels and the shining devas;
I weave them garlands for their golden altars;
I pray them "Tell me of these strange Deceivers
Who speak to me of Dole."

They swiftly come-their faces bathed in glory,
And through their radiance rippling gentle laughter,
As I unfold to them my strange short story-
And all their answer is, "Perchance Hereafter
Thy heart shall learn of Dole...

And then a new delight within me rises,
As I re-seek the shades of bending gladden;
A sense of something that my soul surprises
Comes 0'er me, and I bid again my maiden
" O sing to me of Dole."

She swiftly sings-and through me thrills a rapture;
A joy of things unkenned, remote and lonely,
A something even the soul can never capture
And I beseech her " Child, from now on, only
Sing to me of Dole."

Cyril Scott

My dream is of a realm of passing Peace.
An early autumn day is swooning slowly,
The blue is veiled by violet-tinted fleece,
And from the earth an incense rises slowly,
And all the sounds of Nature's singing cease.

Upon a cone-like hill- begirt by woods
Of mystic furs that rise in stately splendour,
And in the breezes sway their sombre hoods-
A chapel rests; its form both grand and tender
Stands out against the gold above the woods.

For just beyond the hill the cloudy screen
Is rent, and sunbeams in seraphic glory
Inspire with radiance yond the lying scene,
And cast a halo round the gray and hoary
Fane, and fringe the clouds with golden sheen.

And around the chapel shining shapes keep guard,
The forms of priests and priestesses sedately
Make circle, gliding on the downy sward,
And render ritual by the portals stately
Before they cross the sacred chapel yard.

And from this fane a great volcano breaks,
And to the heavens rise resplendent ranges
Of colour-gems, which fall in tiny flakes
On all surrounding hamlets, vills and granges,
Illuming miles of hills and vales and lakes.

And music opens its grand and mighty throat,
And hearts are borne on melody's mighty billows
Upon an open sea of sound afloat,
With sounds as balmy bed and sounds as pillows,
And sounds alone as chariot and as boat.

Then all the fountains of my soul arise,
I feel myself with infinite senses gifted,
I am that fane, those hills, those veils, those skies,
I am those hearts on music's waves uplifted,
I am the mystic essence of all ecstasies.

Cyril Scott

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