Boughs that in years did abound scattered their burthen aground,
Till in immense liberation divinely austere and familiar,
Naked of over-ripe fruit, knew I the Stem and the Root.
Under the hand of the Sculptor, the carver of visible music,
Felt I an infinite Truth, saw I immutable Youth.
Out of the marble a sparkle of motion and delicate gesture
Even as a rose unsheathed blossom-like started and breathed:
Even as animate light, a tremulous prism, made captive
Once in an æon whose spark leaps to us out of the dark.
Swift on a wonderful rapture upswung, the eternal procession