He has an artist’s feeling, also, for the wrath of the elements, which inevitably hurry him on to the consummation
“When Thou shalt spend Thy sacred store
Of thunders in that heat,
And low as e’er they lay before
Thy six-days buildings beat!”
“I saw,” he says, suddenly—
“I saw Eternity the other night”;
and he is perpetually seeing things almost as startling and as bright: the “edges and the bordering light” of lost infancy; the processional grandeur of old books, which he fearlessly calls
“The track of fled souls, and their Milky Way”;
and visions of the Judgment, when