| THE ALTAR tiles are under her feet, | |
| Buff and blue; | |
| The tiles lie smooth beneath her feet, | |
| But touch not her sandal shoe. | |
| Her eyes entranced might seem to gaze | 5 |
| Where arches concentrate and meet | |
| In a maze; | |
| But the arches are not in view. | |
| Where does the vision lie? | |
| What fixes the maiden’s eye? | 10 |
| What makes her smile? | |
| Is it far, or is it near? | |
| What makes her garments float so clear | |
| Above the bed of tile? | |
| They are not lifted by the air. | 15 |
| Why hold her hands behind her head, | |
| Dipped in that foam of golden hair, | |
| As if she heard some distant tread, | |
| And stood prepared to call? | |
| Why does her bosom rise and fall? | 20 |
| Its even swell of deep emotion | |
| Is like the roll on a placid ocean | |
| Of billows from afar. | |
| Who can tell what these billows are? | |
| Is it joy coming, or desire outgoing? | 25 |
| Does she command, or is she wooing? | |
| Why does she smile? why bend her brow? | |
| Why nod? why beckon now, | |
| Whiles censuring, and whiles approving, | |
| Is she conveying her desire | 30 |
| To some viewless choir, | |
| Or a crowd of spirits moving? | |
| Wait! wait! Now she is still. | |
| If thou hast a poet’s ear | |
| For sacred song, come near! | 35 |
| The beating of her heart will tell. | |
| |
| ‘Lo! me on holy ground, | |
| With burning bushes all around. | |
| Oh! whither shall I turn? | |
| I burn! I burn! | 40 |
| Electric currents come and go. | |
| They thread my spirit through and through; | |
| And a crowding tide of thought | |
| Holds my spirit overwrought, | |
| And urges love to fond despair. | 45 |
| Oh! give me air! | |
| I die! I die! | |
| Blow on me from the upper sky, | |
| Or joy that has no breath, | |
| Unsung must end in death. | 50 |
| Oh! give me air divine! | |
| Brace me with the breath of wine! | |
| Give me such milk as flows from the breast | |
| Of the all-hallowing Eucharist, | |
| That I may troll | 55 |
| Sweet carols to the Oversoul. | |
| Either fill me | |
| With blood of song, or kill me. | |
| |
| ‘Oh! I am drunk, but not with drink; | |
| Wild, but not all beyond command. | 60 |
| How could imagination think | |
| To gauge, by law of plumb and line, | |
| A vision reared by heavenly wand, | |
| A beauty all entrancing and divine, | |
| Which makes thought reel as if with wine? | 65 |
| It steals my reason, yet I own it; | |
| It steals my thought to crown it. | |
| My heart in sweet delirium | |
| Lies safe at home. | |
| It gives me more than it can take, | 70 |
| Though I leave all for its dear sake; | |
| A mighty vision haunts me, | |
| Enchants and disenchants me, | |
| Heals my wounds, yet makes me bleed. | |
| Not for the world would I dispel it. | 75 |
| Oh! could I, as I see it, tell it, | |
| I were a bard indeed. | |
| |
| ‘Oh! I am mad, but not with folly, | |
| Sad am I without melancholy, | |
| Glad, but with sober merriment; | 80 |
| Fond am I, without detriment | |
| To reason. Bonded to higher will | |
| That may not be denied, | |
| My own I seek to kill, | |
| All fearless of the suicide. | 85 |
| Oh! I am calm, | |
| I know where I am. | |
| Yea, when most overwrought | |
| I still am mistress of my thought; | |
| Though oft to others I may seem | 90 |
| A vessel driving to the coast | |
| On the foam of a dream, | |
| And utterly lost, | |
| There’s method in my madness, | |
| There’s measure in my gladness; | 95 |
| And into rhythmic rule I bring | |
| True anthems to my Lord and King. | |
| Of love, all ruling love, I sing. | |
| By love inspired, by love oppressed, | |
| Within my breast | 100 |
| Electric forces gathering | |
| Leap into buds; | |
| Thoughts crystallize into thick geodes | |
| The grasses wave their myriad flags; | |
| Hills helmeted with lofty crags | 105 |
| Rein up like warriors; | |
| The hemlocks bending low, | |
| Like water carriers, | |
| Beneath their yokes of snow, | |
| Keep measure with their feet | 110 |
| To the time I beat; | |
| Pines, crowding to look o’er | |
| The common score, | |
| Bend eagerly down till their bonnets meet; | |
| Clouds march in groups; | 115 |
| Waves march in columns over the sea; | |
| Stars gallop in troops; | |
| Nights and days keep time; | |
| The fuguing seasons chime | |
| With nature and with me;— | 120 |
| All praise the Lord together. | |
| To the last cliffs of space I shout, | |
| My choristers to gather. | |
| Sing out! sing out! | |
| Keep tune, keep time, | 125 |
| To the pitch and motion of my rhyme! | |
| Faster! faster! faster! | |
| Look at me! | |
| One! two! three! | |
| ’Tis the measure of the mighty Master. | 130 |
| So beats revolving life in Trinity. | |
| ’Tis the secret of infinity— | |
| Who keeps true time shall time outlast; | |
| Who loses, stubbornly slow, | |
| From heaven shall be outcast, | 135 |
| And its music shall never know. | |
| Sing all! sing out! | |
| Prolong the chant with joyous shout. | |
| Faith praises with untiring tongue. | |
| The hearts that weary die unblest, | 140 |
| Harps must not be unstrung, | |
| Love may repose but never rest.’ | |
