The Warder Poem by Annie Adams Fields

To I. S.


HALF faint with toil from morn to set of sun,
I watched the shadows creep
Up with slow footstep, when the day was done,
Toward my encastled steep.

The palace gleamed upon my dazzled sight;
My heritage was fair;
That night I dreamed my feet were mounting light
Over the golden stair.

Once more I heard the voice of waters low,
By perfumed breezes fed;
Methought I followed a grand leader, slow
Through marble galleries led.

Then sad I wakened in the vale, but found
My guide still drew me on;
Her name was Charity, her voice a sound
Of pure compassion.

'Ascend,' she said, 'to thy fair palace towers;
Share thou their plenitude!
Thus shalt thou gather with thy growing powers
Joy to infinitude.

Self whispered suddenly, Where, then, thy home?
What haunt, what mansion wide?
What refuge after toil in which to roam
Where silence may abide?

My guide made answer: 'Rest is not for thee
While human hearts must weep:
Go east, go west, in blessing be thou blest,
Thus thine own heart shall sleep.'

Once more the palace gleamed upon my sight;
Estrangement made it fair;
That night I dreamed my feet were mounting light
Over the golden stair.