A Recall

By Victor B. Neuburg

Published in the Agnostic Journal

London, England

2 March 1907

(page 134)

Upon my bed in sickness I did lie,

Too weak to know or think, too sick to dream;

And they had left me, and I feared to die,

For through my veins

An ever-growing, turgid, rolling stream

Of blood and youth unconquered hurried by;

And in my brains

All thought was merged into a lurid gleam

Of light; my laboured breath

Too strong for me did seem,—

And then came peace and calm, and with them mighty Death.

A sombre mantle o'er his shoulders fell,

Trailing the ground, where scarce his feet did light;

And he exhaled a faded, musky smell

With his slow breath;

His eyes were deepless as a starless night;

His bosom with deep breath did sink and swell;

No word he saith,

But held his bended arms, as loth to smite,

Against his sides; he seemed

Fitter for sleep than fight:

Around his radiant head an ominous halo streamed

Bright stars the window of my chamber bore,

As in a frame-work set; I strove to rise

Upon my elbow; said I, "Never more,

Unless I strive,

Shall I behold the daylight with mine eyes."

And I was losing fast my vital store.

"Now shall I dive

With this dark angel who is over-wise,

Into his sunless halls,

Where the dark Fate denies

A gleam of light, a flash of summer to her thralls?

The angel to my window moved, and gazed

Into my garden sweet with night and dew,

And, his head leaning on his arms, upraised

His speechless eyes:

Them, turning to my bed-side, slowly drew

My eyes to his, that held me dulled and dazed.

I strove to rise

But a calm breeze from the still garden blew,

Over my weary brow,

And suddenly I knew

That, as his sad lips moved, he whispered softly, "Now."

And so I rose, night-garmented, and sped

Swift doorwards, with the angel at my side,

And marvelled at the speed with which he led,

Yet felt no speed,

And he traversed much space and countries wide;

Past myriad towns o'er which were stars thick-spread,

He still did lead,

And still I followed swiftly in his stride

Over unshadowed lands;

Then, by the yellow tide

Of a broad hasting stream, he turned, and seized my hands.

Now, on the purple hills the dawn did fall,

Slow-moving, grey, it crept around the world,

And fringed with light the sombre, flowing pall

Of ancient Night;

The angel's lips with sorrow deep were curled,

As one whose steps are stayed by a great wall

Of dreadful height,

Or one who sees an alien flag unfurled

His city's heart within,

And sees his kinsfolk hurled

From towers high, and hears their bones crash 'midst the din.

So gazed the angel as he dropped my hand,

And somberly surveyed the dawning day;

Then, lingering a moment on the strand,

Unfurled his wings

That then I first saw; swift he sped away,

His wings vibrating as the skies he spanned;

He passed the rings

Of light that fringe the sun,—his dark array

Faded into the light, . . .

And so I wondering lay

Upon my couch, and lo! the day had conquered night!

And so they came to me when daylight came,

I smiled at them and at the light of morn;

The sun had risen as a mighty flame;

The morning breeze

Blew me the thrushes' singing; I was worn

And wearied pleasantly. They spoke my name.

Slow-rustling trees

I heard outside my window, on them borne

The healing morning air.

Ah! then no more forlorn,

I lay at ease, and smiled that life should seem so fair.

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