Omens

As, ere the storm, a silence fills the world,
No blade is stirred, no banner is unfurled,
In conscious field or wood;
So, all the morning, hushed and tranced with fear,
I seemed to see a messenger draw near,
Whose errand was not good.
I turned, and lo ! within the open door,
The one I deemed beset with perils sore
Close by me, smiling, stood.

I know not why (I said that summer night)
The heart in me should be so wondrous light,
So sweet each moment’s breath:
Assurance kind greets me from every star ;
The all-gathering breeze, that hastens from afar, —
How glad a thing it saith !
That was the night my friend beyond the seas,
Within a tent beneath the olive-trees,
Turned his blue eyes on death.