Daring the eye that unshrinking beholds thee,
Nor droops in thy presence abashed to the ground.
4. Dim is the fire of the sunniest blushes,
Burning the breast of the maidenly rose
To the exquisite bloom that thy pale beauty flushes,
When the incense ascends and the sanctuary glows,
And the music, that seems heaven’s language, is pealing—
Adoration has bowed him in silence and sighs,
And man, intermingled with angels, is feeling
The passionless rapture that comes from the skies.