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Like aught that for its grace may be Dear, and yet dearer for its mystery.
Spirit of BEAUTY, thou dost consecrate With thine own hues all thou dost shir
Of human thought or form, — where art the gone?
Why dost thou pass away and leave o
This dim vast vale of tears, vacant and desc
Ask why the sunlight not for ever
Weaves rainbows o'er yon mountain rive Why aught should fail and fade that once
Why fear and dream and death an birth
Cast on the daylight of this earth Such gloom,-why man has such a scop For love and hate, despondency and hope?
No voice from some sublimer world hath ever
To sage or poet these responses given — Therefore the names of Demon, Ghost, and Heaven,
Remain the records of their vain endeavour, Frail spells whose uttered charm might not avail to sever,
From all we hear and all we see,
Doubt, chance, and mutability.
Thy light alone-like mist o'er mountains
Or music by the night wind sent, Thro' strings of some still instrument, Or moonlight on a midnight stream, Gives grace and truth to life's unquiet dream.
Love, Hope, and Self-esteem, like clouds de
And come, for some uncertain moments lent,
Didst thou, unknown and awful as thou art, Keep with thy glorious train firm state withi his heart.
Thou messenger of sympathies,
That wax and wane in lovers' eyesThou- that to human thought art nourish
Like darkness to a dying flame!
While yet a boy I sought for ghosts, and spe
And starlight wood, with fearful steps pur
Hopes of high talk with the departed dead.
I saw them not
I was not heard
Of life, at the sweet time when winds are wooing All vital things that wake to bring
News of birds and blossoming,
Sudden, thy shadow fell on me;
I shrieked, and clasped my hands in ecstasy!
I vowed that I would dedicate my powers To thee and thine- have I not kept the vow?
With beating heart and streaming eyes, even
I call the phantoms of a thousand hours Each from his voiceless grave: they have in visioned bowers
Of studious zeal or love's delight
Outwatched with me the envious nightThey know that never joy illumed my brow Unlinked with hope that thou wouldst free This world from its dark slavery, That thou-O awful LOVELINESS,
Wouldst give whate'er these words cannot ex
The day becomes more solemn and serene
In autumn, and a lustre in its sky,
Thus let thy power, which like the truth Of nature on my passive youth Descended, to my onward life supply
Its calm to one who worships thee,
Whom, SPIRIT fair, thy spells did bind To fear himself, and love all human kind.
EAR home, thou scene of earliest hopes and joys,
The least of which wronged
Memory ever makes
Bitterer than all thine unremembered tears.