LXXXVIII.
Ye Stars! which are the poetry of Heaven!
If in your bright leaves we would read the fate
Of men and empires,—'tis to be forgiven,
That in our aspirations to be great,
Our destinies o'erleap their mortal state,
And claim a kindred with you; for ye are
A Beauty and a Mystery, and create
In us such love and reverence from afar,
That Fortune,—Fame,—Power,—Life, have named themselves a Star.[331]
LXXXIX.
All Heaven and Earth are still—though not in sleep,
But breathless, as we grow when feeling most;[332]
And silent, as we stand in thoughts too deep:—
All Heaven and Earth are still: From the high host
Of stars, to the lulled lake and mountain-coast,
All is concentered in a life intense,
Where not a beam, nor air, nor leaf is lost,
But hath a part of Being, and a sense
Of that which is of all Creator and Defence.[333]
XC.
Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt[kc]
In solitude, where we are least alone;
A truth, which through our being then doth melt,
And purifies from self: it is a tone,
The soul and source of Music, which makes known[kd]
Eternal harmony, and sheds a charm
Like to the fabled Cytherea's zone,[334]
Binding all things with beauty;—'twould disarm
The spectre Death, had he substantial power to harm.
XCI.
Not vainly did the early Persian make[335]
His altar the high places, and the peak
Of earth-o'ergazing mountains,[19.B.]—and thus take
A fit and unwalled temple, there to seek
The Spirit, in whose honour shrines are weak
Upreared of human hands. Come, and compare
Columns and idol-dwellings—Goth or Greek—
With Nature's realms of worship, earth and air—
Nor fix on fond abodes to circumscribe thy prayer!