In some hour of solemn jubilee The massy gates of Paradise are thrown Wide open, and forth come in fragments wild, Sweet echoes of unearthly melodies, And odors snatched from beds of amaranth, And they that from the crystal river of life Sprung up on freshened wing, ambrosial gales! The favored good man in his lonely walk Perceives them, and his silent spirit drinks Strange bliss, which he shall recognize in heaven. COLERIDGE. |