In eager spires; and under these the sure
Strong ecstasy of Death, in phrase too deep
For thought, too bright for dim investiture.
Of mortal words, and sinking more than sleep
Down holier places of the soul’s delight;
Cry, through the quickening dawn, to us who creep
’Mid dreams and dews of the dividing night,
Thou searcher of the darkness and the light.
III
I seek thee, and thou art not; for the sky
Has drawn thee in upon her breast to be
A hidden talisman, while light soars high,
Virtuous to make wide heaven’s tranquillity
More tranquil, and her steadfast truth more true,
Yea even her overbowed infinity.
Of tenderness, when o’er wet woods the blue
Shows past white edges of a sundering cloud,
More infinitely tender. Day is new,
Night ended; how the hills are overflowed
With spaciousness of splendour, and each tree
Is touched; only not yet the lark is loud,
Since viewless still o’er city and plain and sea
Vibrates thy spirit-wingèd ecstasy.