Emma Lazarus

Spring Star

                 I.

     Over the lamp-lit street,
     Trodden by hurrying feet,
     Where mostly pulse and beat
         Life's throbbing veins,
     See where the April star,
     Blue-bright as sapphires are,
     Hangs in deep heavens far,
         Waxes and wanes.

     Strangely alive it seems,
     Darting keen, dazzling gleams,
     Veiling anon its beams,
         Large, clear, and pure.
     In the broad western sky
     No orb may shine anigh,
     No lesser radiancy
         May there endure.

     Spring airs are blowing sweet:
     Low in the dusky street
     Star-beams and eye-beams meet.
         Rapt in his dreams,
     All through the crowded mart
     Poet with swift-stirred heart,
     Passing beneath, must start,
         Thrilled by those gleams.

     Naught doth he note anear,
     Fain through Night's veil to peer,
     Reach that resplendent sphere,
         Reading her sign.
     Where point those sharp, thin rays,
     Guiding his weary maze,
     Blesseth she or betrays,
         Who may divine?

     "Guard me, celestial light,
     Lofty, serenely bright:
     Lead my halt feet aright,"
         Prayerful he speaks.
     "For a new ray hath shone
     Over my spirit lone.
     Be this new soul the one
         whom my soul seeks."

                      II.

     Beside her casement oped the maiden sits,
       Where the mild evening spirit of the Spring
     Gently between the city's homesteads flits
       To kiss her brows, and floats on languid wing,
       Vague longings in her breast awakening.
     While her heart trembles 'neath those dim, deep skies,
     As the quick sea that 'neath the globed moon lies.

     Where her eyes rest the full-orbed evening star
       Burns with white flame: it beckons, shrinks, dilates.
     She, dazzled by that shining world afar,
       May not withdraw her gaze: breathless she waits.
       Some promised joy from Heaven's very gates
     Unto her soul seems proffered.  When shall be
     The bright fulfilment of that star's decree?

     Nor glad nor sad is she: she doth not know
       That through the city's throng one threads his way,
     Thrilled likewise by that planet's mystic glow,
       And hastes to seek her.  What sweet change shall sway
       Her spirit at his coming?  What new ray
     Upon his shadowy life from her shall fall?
     The silent star burns on, and knoweth all.