1861
                                AFTER THREE DAYS

                                by Lewis Carroll









şiElectronically Enhanced Text (c) Copyright 1996, World Library(R)
DAK Upgraded Edition, Copyright 2000, DAK Industries 2000, Inc(R)şI

{AFTER_THREE_DAYS
                        AFTER THREE DAYS
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        ["Written after seeing Holman Hunt's picture,
            The Finding of Christ in the Temple."]
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           I STOOD within the gate
         Of a great temple, 'mid the living stream
         Of worshippers that thronged its regal state
           Fair-pictured in my dream.
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           Jewels and gold were there;
         And floors of marble lent a crystal sheen
         To body forth, as in a lower air,
           The wonders of the scene.
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           Such wild and lavish grace
         Had whispers in it of a coming doom;
         As richest flowers lie strown about the face
           Of her that waits the tomb.
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           The wisest of the land
         Had gathered there, three solemn trysting-days,
         For high debate: men stood on either hand
                                                 {AFTER_THREE_DAYS ^line 20}
           To listen and to gaze.
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           The aged brows were bent,
         Bent to a frown, half thought, and half annoy,
         That all their stores of subtlest argument
           Were baffled by a boy.
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           In each averted face
         I marked but scorn and loathing, till mine eyes
         Fell upon one that stirred not in his place,
           Tranced in a dumb surprise.
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           Surely within his mind
         Strange thoughts are born, until he doubts the lore
         Of those old men, blind leaders of the blind,
           Whose kingdom is no more.
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           Surely he sees afar
         A day of death the stormy future brings;
         The crimson setting of the herald-star
                                                 {AFTER_THREE_DAYS ^line 40}
           That led the Eastern kings.
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           Thus, as a sunless deep
         Mirrors the shining heights that crown the bay,
         So did my soul create anew in sleep
           The picture seen by day.
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           Gazers came and went-
         A restless hum of voices marked the spot-
         In varying shades of critic discontent
           Prating they knew not what.
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           "Where is the comely limb,
         The form attuned in every perfect part,
         The beauty that we should desire in him?"
           Ah! Fools and slow of heart!
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           Look into those deep eyes,
         Deep as the grave, and strong with love divine;
         Those tender, pure, and fathomless mysteries,
                                                 {AFTER_THREE_DAYS ^line 60}
           That seem to pierce through thine.
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           Look into those deep eyes,
         Stirred to unrest by breath of coming strife,
         Until a longing in thy soul arise
           That this indeed were life:
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           That thou couldst find Him there,
         Bend at His sacred feet thy willing knee,
         And from thy heart pour out the passionate prayer,
           "Lord, let me follow Thee!"
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           But see the crowd divide:
         Mother and sire have found their lost one now:
         The gentle voice, that fain would seem to chide,
           Whispers, "Son, why hast thou"-
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           In tone of sad amaze-
         "Thus dealt with us, that art our dearest thing?
         Behold, thy sire and I, three weary days,
                                                 {AFTER_THREE_DAYS ^line 80}
           Have sought thee sorrowing."
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           And I had stayed to hear
         The loving words, "How is it that ye sought?"-
         But that the sudden lark, with matins clear,
           Severed the links of thought.
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           Then over all there fell
         Shadow and silence; and my dream was fled,
         As fade the phantoms of a wizard's cell
           When the dark charm is said.
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           Yet, in the gathering light,
         I lay with half-shut eyes that would not wake,
         Lovingly clinging to the skirts of night
           For that sweet vision's sake.
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     Feb. 16, 1861.
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                           THE END